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The Mixer

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I didn't discover masturbation until I was in high school, probably ninth grade. I had my first orgasm in the hot tub, but that story will be later. For now, I want to write about something else.

I'm a college student. When I come home, I adore the luxuries of free laundry (often done by my mother, for which I am grateful), a stocked kitchen, and animals to cuddle. However, it is not uncommon for me to get very, very bored.

One day, I became so starved for activity that I asked my mother if she needed any work done around the house. She said yes, and asked me to clean the kitchen. Empty cupboards and wipe down shelves, reorganize the untidy spots, etc. It seemed like a rather nice job to me, and I could have a movie going while I did it, so I agreed. My mother was overjoyed. She and my father took off for work and my younger siblings went to their respective schools, and I started work on the kitchen.

It was hardly exciting at first, though soothing in its monotony. Just a standard kitchen cleaning, some randomly chosen movie playing in the background. I was sifting through a drawer whose contents seemed to be composed of things that simply had no other place when I found it.

I had never seen it before. It was a mixer of sorts. The handle was red plastic, shaped vaguely like a long, thin women's deodorant, with a long wire attachment ending in a jagged circular piece. The cardboard box it came in, which someone had thrown in the drawer, identified it as a foamer/frother for milk or coffee.

I was completely uninterested in the foamer and was prepared to toss it back into the drawer when my finger bumped the switch and it began to vibrate in my hands.

It was like lightning jolted in my pants. The vibration of the handle was so pleasurable even in my hands. I had never experienced vibration during masturbation before; only hot tub jets and my own fingers. However, I was eager to try, that stinging, wet ache was already growing.

It seems silly that I was too shy to try it right there in the kitchen, especially since I was home alone. However, I dashed furtively to the bathroom, as if my cat would know what I was doing if she saw me. I felt too sneaky to try this little foamer in full view of the whole house.

I sat down on the toilet seat, almost nervous as I spread my legs. My first experience with vibration! I could hardly wait, excitement pulsing through me. I looked at the little red foamer, turned it on, and held the handle against my clitoris.

It was mildly disappointing. It felt nice, but my hands absorbed too much of the vibration for any serious stimulation. I sighed, dejected. So much for that idea.

But then the hand towel caught my eye, and I had an idea. I grabbed it and placed the foamer in the middle. Then, holding either end in my hands, I held it up to my clitoris, holding the foamer in a sort of hammock or sling in the towel. It took a moment to get it right, and then it was perfect.

It was absolutely magical. My makeshift placeholder served its purpose, and the vibration pulsed deliciously against my clitoris. I concentrated every synapse in my brain on the wonderful feeling coming from between my legs, closing my eyes and tipping my head back. My legs were spread wide, my hips bearing down on the foamer as it vibrated tirelessly against me. I was in heaven.

I could feel that familiar feeling approaching. That unnamed quality, that mysterious little edge that the sensations slowly gained, as the little foamer buzzed my clitoris. The supplementary tingles crept up my lower back, as they always do, and a cool feeling washing over my pelvis and legs. The feeling built, so indescribable that I almost didn't notice it until it exerted its full force on my welcoming body. I tightened my fingers on the towel, pulling the vibrations against me, and then it hit.

I was paralyzed and yet writhing as wave after wave of luxurious, indulgent, tingling pleasure washed over me, buckling the muscles in my legs, pulling my head back, and spurring my heart rate. My breath all but disappeared as the orgasm ravaged me, coming from a small, vibrating piece of red plastic pressed against that tiniest of organs, doorway to grandest of pleasures.

The amazing feeling spread along my body, coating my torso, pelvis, and thighs with the most decadent lethargy as it slipped out of my skin as wonderfully as it had come. I drooped forward, resting my elbows on my knees, pulling the foamer away from my clitoris, which now ached from pleasure. I closed my eyes, floating in the sea of gentle aftermath, lost in the inertia of post-release.

However, my paranoia struck, and I carefully wiped away excessive lubrication I had produced. Then I pulled up my pants, put the foamer back in its drawer, and continued cleaning the kitchen, still slightly thunderstruck from my sexual explosion.

I rarely use the foamer, though the orgasm was incredible. It's rare that I can guarantee enough to solitude so as to truly enjoy the vibration without risking someone coming home before I could restash my secret toy. However, when the rare moment does come, I sneak into the bathroom with the foamer, grab a towel, and sink happily into the effortless pleasure of vibration, drifting off to pulsing, writhing orgasm.



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