Thoughts While Masturbating

I must admit that I love writing and posting these stories, and to be frank I generally get off once or twice before I’ve finished each one. What’s happening right now? I’m sitting in front of my computer totally in the nude, and I’m really turned on.

I am 30, single, and have a very good job. I am also a very sexual person. It’s said that guys can’t get through a day without having many sexual thoughts. Count me in with that group. Guys at work, even women I meet during the day get me thinking about sex. If you’ve got no date then masturbate. That’s my motto. And so here I am, writing and masturbating. There’s a nice glass of wine at my side and the TV is on at the end of the room. I often watch porny movies as I type these stories. They sometimes give me inspiration for my tales, and they always turn me on.

It’s hard for me to type more than a few lines at a time. Sometimes I stop to think about my story plot, but more often I just like to look down at my red, triangular fur patch, and my long shapely legs (I love legs. I guess you’d call me a leg lady. Is that strange?). I usually don’t touch anything at first. It feels me with a real sensual warmth to just look at myself, to admire myself. Isn’t it fun to be turned on to yourself now and then; to think that you are a real work of beauty, and are madly in love with the body that you call home? I look and look, and the desire to touch grows maddeningly stronger. But still I resist touching. I like the tension that builds, but after a time I yield to passion. I gently touch those legs, and rub them lightly, working my way up to my crotch. I love that pubic area between thigh and pussy. My hands grab the place where thighs joins pubes and tug on it, and then push toward the middle from each side, squeezing my pussy together. My style is to manually arouse my whole bottom area without actually touching that hole where men like to stick their dicks.

Actually more than just dicks have been stuck in that hole. I am a compulsive snatch stuffer. No, I don’t stick stuff inside of me like my fictional Christiane does in the Bus Ride story, but various items of food have found a home there. Too bad men can’t get the kinky feeling that I do when I look down and see a cucumber or banana or squash sticking out of my slot. How about hot dogs? Sure, and sausages, and even my electric toothbrush. And, no, I do not stick it in brush end first. If I want something electric whirring around in there I use different appliances.

So, again, here I am, nude and warm, and with a slight buzz on from my wine, hugging myself with a great degree of sensual happiness. When I write about people fucking, my pussy really starts to ache. After a period of time the ache demands attention, and I start the look and feel cycle all over again. There comes the time, of course, when I just have to play with my sex. I am very gentle with myself, and rub my clitoris lightly. I like developing that flame inside of me by softly massaging all that nice flesh at pussy’s opening. Eventually when prodded again by an urgent sexual demand, I slip a finger inside. So moist there, and so warm. It’s truly fortunate that the tips of one’s fingers are so sensitive. I close my eyes and just let those delicate tissues send signals through my fingers to my mind. Flesh that feels like no other flesh. Men have told me that they get similar feedback from their hands when they are wrapped around their erections. I do like that touch, and the messages that I receive from the wonderful inner lining of my playpen.

At a certain point sexual arousal demand release. Tension becomes exquisite and undeniable. I am forgetful of the room that I am in; TV and computer vanish from my being as I become alone with the feelings of my mind and body. I am Christiane, and I am masturbating. But I don’t let the sexual excitement overwhelm me. I stop. I luxuriate in the feelings that possess me, and sit there unmoving until the unbearable tension slowly wanes. Until I reach that point I don’t dare touch myself anywhere. A wispy touch of my breasts, or a hand drawn daintily over my thigh or the side of my butt cheek will undoubtedly bring about immense orgasmic convulsions. I’ll save that treat for later, thank you.

And so I write some more, lost in thoughts about brother and sister making love, or two women delightedly caressing each other’s bodies, or a man joyously plunging his giant, hard penis into a beautiful woman. This is why I like to write these stories. I want to spend an hour or two just immersed in sex. I want to write about these pleasures and enjoy them by fondling my own body while I do so.

Right now the porny movie on my TV is showing a scene where a man has jammed his face into a woman’s pussy. I can easily feel that is happening to me. My sex is reacting just as if someone was tongue flicking and sucking my clit. That stud on the screen is eating me. I love to be eaten. “Do more to me,” I say to the fucker on the tube, and he seems to hear me. His mouth moves ever so gradually south, and is creeping up to another area that I find very sensual. Will he lick my asshole? Will his fingers or tongue find their way inside? They do, and I feel my anal sphincter puckering, and to enhance the feeling I stand, and start to circle one of my own fingers around my back hole. I lean way forward, and delicately push a finger inside me. In my mind, though it is the dude on the screen who is doing this to me. I feel around inside my asshole, and again the flesh is moist and smooth and very arousing. A finger from my other hand goes in my front hole, and I am finger fucking myself at both ends. But really the guy in the movie is doing this to me. My mind is tight with him as he so beautifully makes love to his lady. The scene is over, and I withdraw my fingers, and type this section of my tale. The sexual fullness in my body once again diminishes as I resume my labors.

I even have some masturbation flicks. Many’s the time that I have kept step with the guy pulling off on the screen. As his hand moves back and forth I am able to sense what is going on inside his mind and body. We share our tremendous arousal, and I try to experience my orgasm right when that yummy white cum starts shooting out of his prick. “We did it,” I yell at him. If only he could hear me, and know that this lanky redhead got herself off watching him. Masturbating is beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different. It is one of the many joys of my life. I love to sit in restaurants by myself or with a gal friend or another guy and rub my thighs together, talking casually while I am filling up with sexual excitement. Once a restaurant companion asked me if something was wrong. Startled I said that I was fine, and why was she asking. She said that a red blush had spread across my face, and she thought that maybe I was ill. If she only knew.

You should understand that I get sexually aroused goes every time that I write one of my tales. Maybe that’s one of the reasons that I write them: to get sexual kicks. If you think of that while reading one of my stories maybe you will enjoy it even more. I surely hope so. My arousal while writing is certainly enhanced by the thought that those reading my stories are jacking or jilling while doing so. I do so love sex, almost any sex, and you wouldn’t be reading this if you didn’t think the same way. Why don’t you bring yourself off now. That’s what I am going to do as soon as I type the last character. I love you.