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My Little Tool

Posted by: Author: Age: 39 Posted on: 0 comments
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When conjuring the memory of my lover's caresses, sometimes fingers aren't enough.


I have children who have just left the nest and live quite alone now. I have a lover who I meet with when we have the chance, but we live states apart, so in the quiet spaces between our reunions we write and talk and share photos. My passions often blossom in the quiet solitude of my bedroom at night. When they do I wrap myself around thoughts of us together and masturbate. I find that I do this often. It is an evening ritual, sometimes I greet the morning this way, too. Usually I simply use my fingers, but when I am unhurried I do other things. My lover once made a replica of his erect cock for me. He cast it in some sort of silicone material that was very lovely and life like. He presented it to me as a surrogate for our times apart and enjoys the knowledge that I use it. We call it the 'Pink Thing' Alas, the Pink Thing met with a tragic, early demise in that it developed a crack near the business end and began to split - impossible to clean

sufficiently to keep from becoming irritated. I

haven't told him. Sad, because it was (of

course) the perfect fit and lovely (if somewhat

disturbingly disembodied) to look at. Anyway, I would rather have the real thing still connected to the Man I love. Nothing is a reasonable substitution in my mind. However, knowing as I do that it is important to keep the blood flowing (use it or lose it), I still masturbate with the little maple spatula handle that I used in the days before the Pink Thing. The tool is

only about the diameter of two of his fingers so it isn't at all painful even though it is maple. I can move against it standing, crouching, or lying on my back - but the whole time I have to conjure his face, his hands, his mouth, because for me the connection between us is at least 75% of the pleasure. When I find myself needing to use the tool, it starts with me missing him, missing his touch, missing his eyes. I take a warm shower to relax, imaging his skin warm

and wet next to mine. I want to drink the water from his shoulders and kiss him while I feel his beautiful penis grow hard and tap against me. I dry off and the towel against my mound is electric. Standing, I take the tool and pretend we are embracing and that he is rubbing against me without entering me yet, gently stroking its tip to and fro, gently pressing it against me with a slow, sweet rhythm. Since, our last meeting, I have tried to imitate the feeling of his tongue stroking my clitoris and pressing open my petals. I try to tickle myself with a brisk fluttering, then press the end into me before tickling again. this makes delightfully shrill pleasures flash through me. I can reach orgasm with the tool each time, but it still has a perfunctory feel about it. So I keep the home fires burning, so to speak and throw on a little more fuel now and then. We have date to talk every Friday night. While I wait for him to call, I wash the dishes and changed into a soft old dress, finding I am quite aroused, After a long, sweet talk I take the time to enjoy the quiet, the owl outside, the darkening sky. I imagined he is just in the next room and somehow he would be pleased if he came in and found me sort of dressed - nothing underneath but my socks (it's cool here). I love his naked body, but I like undressing him or watching him undress, too. Lying back on the sofa, I explore my petals

which are drenched from just talking to him. I find my warming massage oil and rub my inner thighs, my labia, and my fingers with it. I imagine we've met and I have brought some of my

soft art deco hankerchiefs, along with some scarves. I imagine wrapping one around his penis to show him how I use my little tool. Tonight, I will get a hankerchief - this one is lavender and

purple and I will use the tool as tenderly as I would his charming cock. It is never the same, but otherwise I may implode or something. Alone in my little house, I will lay across my sofa in my soft old dress and the soft half light of evening with my hem pulled up and shiver with all the delights I am able to find with my little tool, conjuring the presence of my distant lover. I will masturbate to one beautiful thrill after another.



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