Sex Toy Tales, 1998
I choose the clothing carefully. Cream silk shirt and black
lace bra. Nothing else. After a long day in tailored suit and itchy
hose, the temptation to just walk around naked is strong, but this
will work better.
The computer’s already on — I never turned it off this
morning. My nosy roommate won’t be home from work for
another hour. An hour should enough.
I’ve been waiting for this all day. Just one of those days
when you can’t stop thinking about it — when you want to lock
your married, overweight boss in his office and tear his expensive
clothes off. Thank god I’m not a horny teenage male — my poor
boss wouldn’t survive that. He’d die of embarrassment.
I’m damp already. My breasts are sore, heavy. As I sit
down at the computer, I run a quick hand across a nipple, unable to
resist that indescribable twinge. Then I quickly turn on the
modem, dial in. Rec.arts.erotica is empty again, but there’s a never-
ending stream in alt.sex.stories, and literary quality isn’t terribly
important right now.
“He thrust his nine-inch rod into her steamy love tunnel.”
Not this one. Some things are just unacceptable.
As I select a string of likely-sounding stories and start
spacing through, I thank whatever benevolent diety invented the
net. So much cheaper than buying real erotica. So much more
comfortable than trying to hold open _The Story of O_, or _The
Claiming of Sleeping Beauty_, while the pages are slipping from
sweaty fingers. It only takes one intermittent finger to press the
“He looked, horrified, at the four men holding down his
little daughter. The marks of their whips were clear against her
pale body. She cried out, ‘Please, daddy! They’ll hurt me
again….don’t let them hurt me. I want you, daddy…’ He slowly
lowered himself onto her, promising himself that nobody would
hurt his little girl again…”
I continue to caress my nipples as I read, squeezing and
occasionally pinching, rolling the skin through the silk and lace.
I’ve tried just silk, but there’s a delicious roughness in lace on
sensitive skin. The silk slides across my back and shoulders as I
rock slowly. I cross my legs, first one way, then the other. This
chair is too hard, but there’s no time to stop now.
I’m ready so quickly this time. Like the unlikely child in
the story, wanting something. I slide a hand across the silk,
rubbing it against my breast, my stomach. “She undressed in front
of the window every evening. After everyone else had left the
office, she slipped into a co-worker’s office, and slowly stripped
off her clothes. She leaned against the 67th floor windows in the
Amoco building, looking out over the lake, almost positive that
nobody could see her. She rubbed her naked, taunting body
against the cold glass.”
Scattered around the computer are my paraphernalia…more
silk shirts, candles, a bowl of lukewarm water that was full of ice
yesterday. I pick up a shirt from the floor, and run it between my
legs, pausing between stories to use both hands to pull it back and
forth against my clit. It’s pleasant, but frustrating. I remind
myself once again to buy a vibrator. Then I start reading again.
This one is marked ‘nc’.
Three men have broken in and are taking turns pounding
into a screaming woman. It’s unclear who’s doing what, but it
doesn’t really matter. My pulse is racing now, and while I’m not
quite moaning, I’m no longer silent. I cross my legs again,
tightening the muscles against the bunched silk. Rocking once
more, fingers tightening on my right nipple through the lace. The
big construction worker flips her over and enters her again, his
hard chest slamming into her back. I squeeze harder, and oh, this
will hurt later, but it doesn’t matter.
My leg muscles are clenched so tight that pins and needles
are racing up and down them. Somehow, that only makes it better,
the tension building and building as I rock back and forth with silk
rubbing against my clit. The woman is screaming and I am
whimpering now, climbing higher and higher until I think I cannot
do this anymore, I have to relax my muscles, I just can’t….
And then it’s suddenly here, and I don’t know if I’m
screaming too, or silent, as my orgasm grabs me and all my
muscles convulse at once and relax so slowly and the world just
blanks out around me, dissolving into haze.
Eventually, I can see again. I let go of my poor, maltreated
nipple, and uncross my legs for a moment, letting the silk shirt fall
to the floor. It’s 5:18 by the computer clock, and I have over forty
minutes before my roommate is likely to arrive. I stretch, pause to
pet the cat that has somehow climbed onto the monitor, shift and
settle again in the hard chair.
I select a new set of stories, and start reading again…