A Typical Day (Part I)

This is my first story on Solo Touch. If I contribute stories here, I suppose a good place to start is to tell everyone a little bit about myself. My name is Sara, and that’s my real name. My avatar is real, but I’ve cropped it, adjusted it, and changed the color tones so that you would never recognize me if you encountered me. Over time, you’ll learn more about me if you follow my stories.

I’m addicted to masturbation and sex. The simple truth of that addiction is that nothing on the face of this earth is more important to me than fucking myself and reaching orgasm. It’s more important than relationships, my job, being with family, or anything else. 

This is my first story here and it occurs to me that I’ve started with a title that’s an outright lie. “A typical day”. A pretty simple and self-explanatory title, but also not a grain of truth in that statement. If you’re addicted to masturbation, there is no such thing as a “typical day”. Each day is different and orgasms aren’t typical. Orgasms are like snowflakes in that no two are ever the same.

My alarm clock goes off at 5:30 AM every morning. I live less than one mile from work and I don’t have to be there until 8:30, so I have three hours to get ready and to get there. On the surface that probably sounds crazy, and to a normal person makes no sense at all. I get that, but keep in mind I’m not a normal person. I’m a masturbation addict. Prior to going to work, I’ll usually shower at least twice, and do all of the normal things people do before going to work. But the most important thing I’ll do is fuck myself and play with myself for at least an hour and possibly two.

Upon waking, the first thing I’ll notice are the smells. The first smell is coffee, and the aroma of the fresh brew that I timed to be ready at 5:30 has reached my bedroom. The second smell, and more pronounced than even the coffee, is the smell of sex. That smell that I vaguely call “sex” is dominated by one specific element. There are contributing elements to that smell like perfume, sweat, and piss. There might even been a faint, salty smell of tears, because when I was finished fucking myself last night I transitioned into uncontrollable sobbing before falling asleep. But more than anything, there is the overwhelming smell of raw, fucked cunt that permeates every nook and cranny of my bedroom.

The sheets are stained with it, and my wet cunt juices were smeared on my thighs, stomach, breasts, and face. I wake up laying in what most people would consider to be filth. I look like a wasted whore that was fucked into submission and discarded. Instead of being horrified at what I look like and what I’ve become, I welcome it. I want more of it. It makes my tight, pink, shaved slit wet with anticipation.

I desperately want to touch myself. Right now, at this moment and just like so many moments from my past, the only thing in this world that I want is to fuck myself. I fight that desire off knowing that if I just hold off long enough to have some coffee and take a shower, then the experience will be so much better.

Laying here at 5:30 in the morning in my stained, cunt smelling sheets I lose that battle to hold off, roll over onto my stomach, and furiously thrust two fingers into my tight, wet cunt. My middle finger glances off of my G spot, and my first orgasm of the day hits me. It hits me in under 60 seconds. I am a trembling and grunting form of female flesh that is out of control, and the only thing I want is more.

A remembrance of a previous sexual encounter enters my mind as one usually does, and it spurs me on. Sometimes I engage in a sexual encounter just so I can file it away in my memories and use it to fuck myself. 

I’m reaching as hard as I can and working as hard as I can to get to that second orgasm. I know that once it hits me they’ll begin to roll over me like waves. I think back to the day that a college professor threw me down, spread-eagled me on a desk, and fucked me from behind.

It doesn’t matter how it started or how it happened. Who cares? What matters was the brutal fucking I took with his huge cock pummeling me. Oh God yes, I remember, and remembering brings me closer now. I’m furiously fucking myself now. I never left the bed this morning, and my full bladder is bursting. There’s no stopping this now. 

It was a take down and a primal fuck. No foreplay, no tenderness, and certainly no intention other than to fuck me senseless and with no regard for any physical hurt it might cause me. He roughly spread my wet slit with his fingers, positioned the engorged head of his cock at the entrance to my cunt, and then brutally impaled me with it up to the hilt. He then told me I was a filthy whore, and said that I should talk dirty to him and call him Daddy. In between grunts and scream, I did exactly that.

“Yes, Daddy. I want your cum Daddy! Deep Daddy- please!” 

His cock is impaling me now and in the furthest reaches of my cunt. Oh Christ, he may ram this fucking thing through my cervix. It could tear me up but if I keep cumming I don’t care. Orgasms now. Trip to the ER later.

“Motherfucker! Yes Daddy! Daddy, rape fuck me! Put it in me harder! Put a baby in me Daddy!”

As soon as I told him to put a baby in me, it went from primal to prehistoric. That overriding urge to procreate that has taken precedence since the dawn of time kicked in, and he drilled his cock in even furthur.

Shuddering orgasms rolled over me like a Tsunami. The pain was both intense and exquisite. His rhythm and cadence changed, and he went from long, deep strokes to burying his cock inside of me and holding it as deeply as possible with short strokes. I knew he was close and would explode.

“It’s time Daddy! Please! I need your hot spunk! Seed my womb Daddy! Oh God, yes!”

His ejaculate erupted deep within me like a fire hose. At exactly that moment, I went from intermittent waves of orgasm to a full throttle, uninterrupted body orgasm that to me seemingly lasted forever. It overwhelmed me and I was quivering, screaming, and sobbing.

As is often the case, I don’t know how long it lasted. When it was over and I slowly started to return to reality, he was collapsed on top of me. My lip was split open and bleeding from being slammed into the desk, and the pain between my legs was intense. He finally rolled off of me and I fell to the floor.

His only words to me were, “You need to get out of here before someone knows you’re here.”

I open my eyes now and glance at my clock. It’s 6:45 AM, I’ve been awake for over an hour, and haven’t left my bed. My right hand is still between my legs, the sheets are saturated, and I wonder if in some way I was transported back to that place and time.

I finally roll off of the bed and stagger to the bathroom. Then to my kitchen for the coffee that was ready over an hour ago. By 7:15 it’s time for a shower, and time to begin the process of getting ready for work.

I luxuriate in the feeling of the warm water cascading over my body. God knows I need it, and I’m surely in no hurry to leave it behind. Slowly I begin to gently caress my body, starting with my stomach and working my way up to my breasts.

My nipples are erect and I caress them and then circle them gently with my fingers. If I had more time I could nipple-gasm. I don’t have more time so with one hand I play with my nipples, and with the other my clit. I lean back against the tile, arch my back, and establish a rhythm.

Oh God, this is so good. In less time than I would have imagined, I arrive at that point where I’m at the crest of the wave, and I can trigger that cascading orgasm whenever I want. I pick up the tempo on both my nipples and clit, surrender to it, and let it overtake me.

My hips buck and quiver as I cum. Oh God, it is so good, I want it to last forever. I try to prolong it but the sensation leaves me almost as quickly as it arrived. Utterly and completely exhausted, I slide down the shower wall slowly, and come to rest on the shower floor with the stream of water comforting me.

It’s a rare moment of complete peace and comfort. It is wonderful beyond words. As happens frequently when I reach this point, and for reasons I can’t begin to understand, I start to cry. This gentle crying transitions into uncontrollable sobbing with my body heaving. Maybe it’s because of some hidden sadness, or perhaps my body is purging some inner demon. I don’t know why or what brings it on. I’m not sure I want to know.

I leave the shower, glance at the clock, and realize that I’m standing naked in the bathroom, and I have to be at work in a half hour. Easy! I dress quickly, and arrive at the office at 8:25.

When I first arrive at the office, I’m always at my most productive in the morning. As the day wears on, my addiction will again take hold. The longer the day, the more preoccupied I become with thoughts of fucking myself. How I handle those thoughts and desires, and what I do when I return home, will have to wait for another day.

To be continued in Part II