My computer desk looks like a battlefield; empty 20 ounce bottles of Diet Coke and Diet 7-Up lay half empty, like wounded soldiers attesting to my battle with boredom. There are unopened letters, Chinese takeout boxes, and even my prized pair of red chopsticks.
Itās very apparent that I live at my computer.
Iām surfing the web, trying in vain to find something I havenāt already come across online to entertain me. As usual, Iām alone, bored out of my mind, lonely and horny.
The generic blue of the screen reflects off my face in the dark, and the contended purr of the processor and fans mimic the purr of the cat curled up at my feet. My mind wanders to the prospect of my own pussy purring happily after hours of great sex.
Suddenly re-inspired in my search for something to do, I decided the best possible thing to ādoā would be myself. I run off to my bedroom, and grope under the bed for my trusty goodie bag. I unzip the bag and survey my stockpile, looking for tonightās weapons of choice. I can already feel the heat between my legs starting to intensify in anticipation. Groping through the bag, I find a medium sized blue marbled rubber dildo, slightly curved and extremely stiff. I lay it aside lovingly, along with a bottle of Aqua Lube. I can already feel the beginnings of wetness inside me, and I contemplate leaving the lube. It stays out though, as I dig deeper. I grab onto the familiar diamond shaped squishiness of my butt plug, my favorite, but definitely not my only, anal toy. Into the pile it goes. I grab aimlessly at one of the several vibrators, and come up with the familiar bullet shape, this time a long thin purple one. I do a quick battery check, and feel the soft numbing sensation in my palm. Check and check. I lay it in the growing stack of accoutrements.
Iām getting impatient to get started, and I feel the familiar tugging of the muscles in my vagina flexing, the physical equivalent of whining for attention. My nipples stiffen underneath my thin white tank top, and Iām reminded of what Iām forgetting. Impatiently, I lean back on my heels, digging them into the swollen flesh between my legs hoping for some relief as I dive into the bag again. Pawing around to the very bottom of the bag, I find the last of my treasures for tonight; a pair of seemingly harmless wooden clothes pins. I gather up my collection, pressing the arsenal of oddly shaped tools into my breasts once again hoping in vain for at least a slight decline in the uncomfortable longing and march dutifully back to my desk. Pushing aside the collection of junk, I plop my armload onto the desk, and after some brief arranging Iām ready. I slip my fingers into the elastic of my loose-fitting flannel pajama bottoms, and slip them quickly off my full hips and into a pile on the floor. Stepping out of the tangled material, I canāt help but slide my fingers down over my cotton covered clit, now throbbing and aching. I rub myself slowly, just enough to turn the pain pack into tension, and plop down in my chair. The cold leather bites at my bare ass, and I quietly curse myself for wasting a g-string from my sparse supply of sexy underwear on a night at home.
Sliding my chair back up to the keyboard, I grab the mouse and open a new browser window, which displays my favorite search engine, Google. Although Iām pretty sure Iāve exhausted the insane amount of free pornography listed, in addition to following an endless stream of graphic banner ads and pop ups for āThe Best Cum Shots On the Net!ā and āNasty Sluts Take it in the Ass, LIVE!ā, I still type in my favorite masturbation fodder, āgroup sexā.
I scan the list of links in bold blue, squinting against the harsh white light. After opening a few links to the same damned thing, threesomes with triple E fake boobs and more make-up smeared on small cocks than I wear in a week my excitement level has dropped to almost nil, and the once enticing array of toys now looks like a testament to my lack of a social life rather than an inviting adventure.
Downtrodden but not defeated, I type āgang bang amateurā in the search field, figuring between the more graphic description along with the correct spelling I might actually find something new, exciting, and interesting. Finally, halfway down the third results page, I find a link to someoneās personal webpage. Figuring the flood of pop up ads can be no worse on a free web host than on any porn site, I click the link.
The opening page has a picture of a cute couple, average looking, average build, cuddling under a tree. The biography is long and drawn out, as they always are, so I scan the text and after finding āWe have an open relationshipā and āoften invite couples and groups into our sex lifeā along with things like ābisexualā āanalā āmultiple penetrationā and āexhibitionā Iām getting the wonderful warm sensations between my legs again, and my nipples are painfully erect against the rough poly-cotton fabric of my tank top.
I click the āEnter Our Siteā link, and am informed by a glaring red text that I must enter my name, a short bio, my e-mail and a messenger contact in order to enter the site. Oh lord, more junk mail. But the pulsing of my clit and the pounding of my pulse make it obvious that SPAM is not a priority.