Loading...Damn! I really will have to gather up my courage and get myself out there to buy a proper butt plug.
Not for the first time I find myself casting about for something smooth and sensual to shove up my arse. The hotel room is equipped with every convenience device known to man (and woman), there’s even a porn channel on the TV – but there aren’t many hotels that have dildos in the bedside cabinets.
Well… I know of one in Soho, Soho in London… London, England that is, but that’s a bit special – and a long way from here.
“Here” is a very nice room – almost a suite (I’m not paying) on the umpty-first floor of a very nice hotel on Wilshire Boulevard. I’ve got most of the lights off and there is a fantastic view of the sparkling nightlife of Los Angeles through the huge glass windows but they don’t got no dildos up here and I’m getting desperate!
I’m a strange girl. I’ve been shoving things up my bum since before puberty and I can’t really explain it. I remember the first time, lying on my bed in my little room at night, with the moon shining through the curtains, taking off my panties, lifting my legs over my head and bringing my knees down on either side of my head – I was much more flexible then. I wasn’t at all interested in my pussy – I don’t think I even knew I’d got one. I had a wee hole and a bum hole and the bum hole was the one that interested me. I probed my bum with a finger, it was soft and yielding but I didn’t go in, even on the outside it made my finger smell a bit – not bad exactly, I remember sniffing it and getting to quite like the funny “not quite poo” smell.
And then, having dared myself over a couple of nights I tried the blunt end of a pencil and to my fascinated surprise, with very little pressure, it slid in. I remember the sensation to this day, really quite pleasant, and the sense of amazement as I gazed up at the sharp end protruding out of my bottom.
As I grew I graduated to bigger things, hairbrush handles mostly, and I stole my brother’s pen torch – he never did get it back, God, I hope he doesn’t read this! The fascination didn’t leave me as I got older, but the innocence did and I began to worry about doing it. Was it right? Would God punish me? And later when I knew a lot more about anatomy, especially my anatomy, I wondered if I might be doing myself some harm?
By the time I got to my middle teens I’d stopped entirely. I almost forgot I’d ever done it. But then in university after a couple of relationships didn’t go exactly right – and anyway, I was a good student, determined to get a first, not much time for the hassle of sex with another person – I tried again. Back to the hairbrush! This time it was my pussy first; I remember I had quite a reasonable cum. The next night though, alone in bed in my college room, with the moon throwing shadows of the diamond patterned leaded windows onto the opposite wall and the quiet dark of the quadrangle outside I remembered where that hairbrush had been when I was a kid. Yes dear reader, it was the same one, a very nice Mason Pearson that my grandmother bought me for my seventh birthday because I had very long, beautiful hair. Mr Mason Pearson had a long, beautiful handle, quite wide at the end narrowing down at the base, near the bristly head.
Dare I do it again? A little thrill crept up my stomach; it made me catch my breath. After a moment’s hesitation I threw back the bed covers and brought my knees up, not too high – just a normal fucking position. Well, normal for me anyway – I don’t know what the rest of you do. I slipped my hand inside my panties and I felt my cunt. I rubbed my hand over the tight curls of my bush and slid my middle finger along my pussy lips and down to my bum hole; still soft and yielding when I pressed a little. I sniffed my finger and the memories came flooding back.
My mind made up now I rolled out of bed and padded across the cold parquet floor to my dressing table. “Oh, Mr Mason Pearson, where are you…?”
Clutching my bristly, smooth handled prize I scurried back into bed and snuggled under the warm covers. I was shivering a little, was it that cold? Or was it something else? I lay stiff and straight and pushed the brush handle down inside my panties between my tightly closed thighs. It was cold against my groin, almost deliciously so. I pulled at the head end flicking it a few times so the bristles pressed into my mound and the trapped handle pressed briefly against my cunt. After a few moments of this I relaxed and eased my panties down over my bum. I held Mr Mason Pearson in place to keep him warm and scuffled with my feet curling my big toe to grip my panties and get them down each leg in turn. Then my panties were off, a soggy heap somewhere near the bottom of the bed. On an impulse I pulled Mr Mason Pearson from my groin and started to brush my cunt hair with the stiff bristles. That was nice! I wondered why I hadn’t done it before?
The handle was warm now in my hand. I turned the brush around and, still under the covers I opened my legs and raised my knees slightly, enough to ease the handle down my slit. I felt horny and wet, but the wetness was inside me still, so I slipped a finger down alongside the brush handle. I pressed on my labia and rubbed it up and down a little then I probed my lips and gradually worked my finger inside.
There now – inside my hole. That is nice, all wet and slimy – and hot. I moved my finger in and out a few times, spreading the wetness onto my cunt lips and rubbing against my clit. My hips moved up off the bed of their own accord, pressing against my hand. Three fingers now, spread across my labia, managing to get two of them inside every three or four strokes, diddling my clit every so often… not too much, it makes me want to wee a bit.
Now I’m very wet. I sniff my fingers again, pungent, a very strong aroma. I’m quite clean and I don’t know why I smell so strongly. I always have. I know that even if I scrub my fingers thoroughly the smell will still be lingering there later the next day. I sniff again…mmmm! Why do I like my own smells so much?
Time for Mr Mason Pearson! I grip the head; the stiff bristles on their sponge base give way under my fingers. I probe my wet cunt lips with the tip of the handle. I use a finger to help find the entrance to my hole. You have no sensitivity Mr Mason Pearson I say to him. Oh well, never mind, you have other qualities. In he goes…delicious! I slide him in and out a few times, all the way in and all the way out. I love that moment of entry, but then I push him all the way in so the head is pressing on my clit and the bristles tickle my thighs.
I take my hand away and lay still for a moment, and then I have to hump him a little, my hips rising off the bed rhythmically. I reach between my legs, feel how far in he is, pressing a little further, lifting the bristly head and letting it go a few times so I can feel the handle wobble against the walls of my cunt. Then I reach past him to my bum. I have to lift my legs a bit more, drawing my heels up and raising my knees. My wrist is pressing against Mr Mason Pearson, pressing him sideways in my cunt. I find my bum hole, soft and yielding like always. I probe a little with my finger, and then I sniff my finger again. Lovely! The strong, pungent odour from my cunt is mixed with the brown, musky smell of my bum hole. I stick my finger in my mouth and suck on it. I lick it with lots of spit then I put it back down underneath the covers, careful not to wipe the spit off. I reach between my legs, past Mr Mason Pearson and find my bum hole again. I rub round it gently making it wet with my spit, and then I start to press, wiggling my finger into the tight little opening.
It slips in just a bit and now I can feel the firmness of my sphincter muscle inside. I bend my wrist and press upwards easing my finger into the pressure; it’s quite comfortable, just… nice… A little more pressure and my finger slides in, my sphincter giving way. I move my wrist and forearm sideways again, and feel Mr Mason Pearson in my cunt. I hump again, and rub my free hand on my mound; my fingers go either side of Mr Mason Pearson and rub my labia. I find my clit and diddle it a bit.
Lovely, but now it’s time.
I wonder if I can get my legs over my head with Mr Mason Pearson still in my cunt? I roll back the covers and pause, my knees up, one last push to make sure he’s firmly in. I lift my legs and support my back with my hands. I lift my legs even higher then bring my knees over my head and down by my ears – oh the memories! There’s Mr Mason Pearson! I can see him quite clearly poking out of my cunt; but now you’re going somewhere altogether different my old friend. Somewhere you haven’t been for a long, long time.
I take a hand away from my back and nearly roll sideways. Whoops, that won’t do! Don’t want to spoil our fun do we? I get my balance and I can free both hands easily. Mr Mason Pearson slides out, almost falls out he’s so sloppy and wet. I sniff him, wow! He’s really powerful, I expect it’s because he goes deeper than my finger. It’s really strong and I wonder briefly if there’s something wrong with me. But it’s not a nasty smell so it’s only a fleeting thought. Holding the bristles again I feel for my bum hole with the other hand and guide his handle to my opening. I hold him against me, feeling the delicious pressure. Then I wiggle him gently, easing him in just a little. I can feel the pressure from the inside, and through the bristles in my hand. I consciously relax my arse. Then he starts to slide in, no trouble at all, just like the old days.
Bliss!
Lovely, lovely, lovely!
For a moment I gaze up at him. Standing there all on his own, sticking up out of my bum. Then I lower my legs and pull the covers back over me. I feel him pressing against the mattress, pressing up into my arse and I reach down to frig my cunt. I rest my palm on my hairy mound and pull all my fingers hard up into my labia, squeezing my bum cheeks and humping upwards feeling Mr Mason Pearson inside me as the pressure against him from the mattress falls away. I go back down again and he’s pressed upwards into me once more. I can feel the bristles against the back of my thighs and I start rhythmically humping, squeezing my cunt and easing my fingers past my labia. I rub back and forth as I hump, slipping two fingers inside. In and out, in time with the humping, feeling Mr Mason Pearson alternately pressing back and forth against my sphincter. I’m in heaven.
My orgasm builds slowly. I slide my fingers in and out of my cunt, sometimes rubbing my cunt lips and sometimes diddling my clit. I start to press my clit harder, sideways, and backwards. I pinch it a little, then I leave off when it gets too much and slide my fingers back inside. All the time I’m humping Mr Mason Pearson and he’s bumping away inside my arse. And then I can feel it coming. My arse feels fantastic, my cunt feels fantastic, my belly is tingling. My throat is dry and I’m breathing heavy, ragged breaths.
Shit! It hits me very, very hard. Oh, dear God! I heave my hips upwards against the pressure on my cunt, squeezing my anal muscles and my bum cheeks against Mr Mason Pearson. I go rigid, only my shoulders and heels in contact with the mattress. I frig on like this for a bit but then it gets too much. I’m breathing heavily and my thighs are quivering. I ease my bum down onto the bed the lovely feeling of Mr Mason Pearson still inside me.
Gradually my breathing returns to normal and I start to relax. I roll over onto my side and curl my legs up. I haven’t had a cum like that in years. I reach back to my behind and my fingers find Mr Mason Pearson’s bristly head, his handle still firmly up my arse. I wiggle him a bit. He still feels nice in there. I get another little thrill through my stomach and I wonder if I should leave him there all night?
With that delicious thought I snuggled deep into my covers. Maybe not, I’ll take him out in a bit I thought to myself; he’s ok for now.
The next morning he was still there.
Metaphorically speaking I haven’t looked back since! I enjoy sex with myself far more than I do with a partner. It’s almost become an addiction and over the years I’ve had so many things up my bum. The easiest things to get hold of are courgettes, they are just the right size and shape though lately I keep looking for something bigger. I’ve never had a dildo or, even more intriguing, a butt plug – I’ve always been way too wary to pluck up the courage and go and buy one; and I’m never in one place long enough to order something discreetly over the net; but I sure wish I had one now.
I’ve got a high profile job and I can’t risk the exposure. You will have seen me on TV if you watch the news much. Over the years I’ve reported for a number of satellite news agencies and I specialize in global political stories. Wherever the politicians go I go too so I’m usually on the move. I’m in Los Angeles right now covering a conference on the environment. That’s why I’m in this wonderful hotel that seems to be totally devoid of anything I can shove up my arse! I’ve looked at the shampoo bottles in the bathroom but they are rectangular, entirely the wrong shape. There are bottles in the mini bar but they slide out of your bum too easily because the neck gets wider as it goes down. You might guess I’ve tried them before! They’re alright to go down on from a squatting position but I like something that stays up there by itself, I get pretty physical when I start humping around and it really spoils the fun if your partner pops out at the crucial moment.
Sadly Mr Mason Pearson bit the dust long ago. His sponge had crumbled and his bristles were all falling out and on a rare visit back home to my mum’s place in the Cotswolds she said I really ought to throw him out. I pleaded half-heartedly that he held fond memories (of my Grandma of course!) but in truth his handle was actually quite small and even back then I was beginning to crave something a little more… “testing” shall we say?
I stood and looked around my room again. Surely there must be something here? Dare I ask room service for a salad with a whole courgette? I gazed unseeing out of the huge windows. The lights of the traffic on Wilshire far down below were like a string of diamonds and rubies threading their way across town. A glint of something caught my eye, a reflection in the glass. I turned and tracked it down. On the sideboard were two fancy stainless steel candleholders. They were very nice, very contemporary, like everything in this place.
I’d soon dismissed the candles in them, they were all of three quarters of an inch in diameter; they wouldn’t even touch the sides! Each candle holder was a one piece sculpture of stainless steel, at the top was a ball two to three inches in diameter (with a hole in the top to take the candle) mounted on a short stubby pillar about an inch long and an inch in diameter on a round flat base about two inches across. I started to entertain the possibility… would that ball go through my bum hole? Once inside the width of the pillar bit would be ok, and the base would stop it disappearing, though that didn’t bother me too much – I’d once had a courgette right up my arse for two days before I shit it out. Made me squirm a bit sitting on a newscasters’ chair for a studio presentation but it was actually quite a turn on. If you had known who I was back then – God forbid! – you might have noticed I presented that day with a slightly glazed look.
I looked again at the candle holders. I’d never tried anything remotely that size before, but… I’ve been hankering after something bigger for a while now and I was pretty desperate. Maybe with plenty of lube? Moisturising cream was my favourite and there was a whole rectangular jar back in the bathroom!