Shopping and Packing
written by:
CatrionaM

I was going to send you simple set of instructions, lover, old-fashioned way, on a scented page of thick, watermarked paper, together with the other things.

And then I thought I'd tell you what I did, instead of telling you what to do yourself. For now, anyway.

And from that, it was only a small step to posting the account here, for public amusement.

It might even make somebody hard. Or wet. Who knows?

Do you, lover, wonder, sometimes, what other people make of these little tales here? Whether they want to know more about what's happening behind the scenes; or should I say between the lines? And what it is that I tell them when they ask?

But let me not be too digressive. To the point.

I went shopping a little, a few weeks ago. You know, the January sales.

I filled my bags with discounted tat, clothes I may wear once, a few times, or never; knee high boots, lace-edged pencil skirt, tops, shirts, trousers.

There was a basket of hosiery by the escalators and I burrowed in it for ages, pulling out stockings and hold-ups; fishnets, sheer, embroidered; with lacy tops and seamed; black and tan. I picked up several packets thinking of you, lover.

Cheap fripperies for a cheap slut, really, but we can't be always classy, can we?

I went for a coffee afterwards, sat outside in the unseasonably mild weather of a British January, my bags piled on one chair while I sat in the other with a book, a large black coffee and a cigarette.

Down the road, in the main city square, a Bible-bashing madman with an American accent was shouting things that I couldn't quite catch. Most people passing-by were smiling, shaking their heads. A good thing to have free street entertainment at lunchtime.

'Are you saved?' asked a stranger, placing his coffee two tables away from me.

'Oh, I have been happily damned for a long time,' I laughed in response, and went back to my book.

I finished a chapter and packed up, crossing the street to check out the sales in the store opposite, the lingerie-and-sex-toys high-street chain which works hard to make itself female-friendly, the whole business of sex stripped of its power and thrill in order to become chummily non-threatening.

It IS a nice chain, though, and I spent a pleasant five minutes browsing through the reduced-to-clear saucy-Santa outfits and flimsy panties.

On the way out, I stopped by the sex toys section, discreetly placed in the back of the store. I looked at the impressive selection of rabbit vibrators, which I don't like, and turned to dildos, which I do, but I'm happy with mine - not sure if I ever sent you a picture - it's a pale blue, springy silicone one, with silly pink stripes. Looks a little like a blown up mockery of a candy cane, and feels oh so good rammed deep in my pussy. I am sure you could hear it doing its squelchy, wet work on one of the audio files I made.

But I'm not really that big on toys. An odd one or three is all I really need. Still, I looked through the entry-level anal beads and plugs and picked up a couple of colourful packets, the descriptions on those more embarrassing that the actual items themselves.

When I got home, I impatiently pulled the cardboard and plastic packets open.

I'm not very good at this deferred-gratification thing. Unless, of course, it's walking around with my sex drenched and my mind filled with images of hungry mouths and eager tongues, hard cocks and wet pussies, sometimes a whole day of a heady glow that makes me feel oh-so-alive that I - almost - don't even want to cum.

~~~~~

Now I know what I am going to put into my last package for you, lover.

From today's shopping, a small bullet-shaped anal toy, so you are able not to just play with it when you want to cum but just wear it at other times, waves of low-level arousal secretly washing over your body as it fills and stretches your ass, excitingly but not uncomfortably, while, incidentally, making it potentially just a little more ready for something bigger, maybe, one day.

Just for the sheer fun of it, a pair of hold-ups with a lace-trimmed edge (I kept one like that for myself too) and a black g-string.

And finally, a scarf, a mere strip of black silk to tie around your eyes the next time you touch yourself for me.

There might be another little trinket or two. You'll see.

But I can't possibly pack it all and post without testing, can I?

I have a bath first, a long soak in hot water. I wash my hair, and shave so things feel more immediate and more delicious later. I soap my fingers and clean the folds and crevices of my skin, slip them past the tight rosebud of my ass, stretching it in preparation for the pleasure.

I come out of the bathroom wrapped in a large towel, my skin breathing and glowing, my nipples erect, my pussy wet in anticipation. I'm getting rather hot now, and my instinct is to just flop down on the bed and work my cunt until I cum, but I resist this temptation, letting the lustful daze envelop me for a bit longer.

Let's dress up a little, lover. It's more fun this way.

I put on the stockings, or rather hold-ups, really, which is a bit of a cop-out as I love suspender belts, but for now they will do, surely. The wide silicone band at the top holds reasonably well, and the embroidery below adds a nice touch.

I run my hands along my legs, from the toe-tips to the ankle, past the knees and to the place where the edge of the stocking turns into the smooth, hot skin. I picture you doing the same, for me, and my body tenses up in a contraction of excitement.

I pull on the g-string, a small triangle of woven silk rubbing slightly on my mound, swollen with arousal, soaking up some of the copious wetness. I imagine it wrapped around your sex, throbbing hot against the bind which both intensifies the desire and makes it last just a little bit longer.

I am not quite sure what next, lover. I am tempted by the red silk cami, to cascade down the burning skin, brushing oh-so-lusciously against the quivering nipples. I am tempted by the black basque, the slight roughness of the elaborate lace adding an extra thrill, the half-cups and a deep plunge a reasonable compromise between adequate uplift and ease of access. I am tempted by nakedness, simply, less visually pleasing perhaps, but with all of the skin available for strokes, licks and caresses. What do you think?

It's a little chilly, though, in this old stone house looking over the North Sea, with majority of the rooms barely inhabited for most of the year. I suddenly decide, putting on my favourite Fauve bra, the burgundy satin half-cup and the sheer black mesh on top. It's the one I am wearing in my author's pic, by the way.

And then, to keep the cold off, although I am feeling anything but cold at the moment, I throw on an oversized white shirt. It's been washed many times now and the linen has gone rather soft, but it's still clearly a man's shirt. I love wearing it under a black v-neck cashmere jumper or a suit jacket. Somehow it feels just right, a good counterpoint to all that lingerie.

Rose petals and steel barbs, wasn't it? I'm afraid my language has gone a little florid in the last few months, lover, not quite without your influence, but what the hell. There are other places for pithy one-liners.

Anyway, I am dressed now and I picture you also ready, complete with the blindfold tied around your eyes. That's one detail I will leave out on my side.

I stretch on the bed, on top of the covers, my knees bent a little, my right hand at my mouth, two fingers sliding down, brushing the bottom lip open, darting aside to the corner of my mouth which opens involuntarily, my tongue meeting my fingers briefly before they follow the line of my chin and neck to my sternum and then sideways to quickly caress the raising flesh of my breasts.

My left hand is now on my left breast, stroking and pressing, the fingers just brushing the nipples gently. I have incredibly sensitive nipples and sometimes just touching them in a right way makes me gasp and pant, my thigh muscles flexing, my pussy throbbing, my hips rocking as desire flows through my body.

My right hand travels down, I slide it under the silk of the g-string, past my swelling clit and to the source of all that dripping dampness.

God, it feels so fucking good, to slide my fingers in the slippery, hot folds of my cunt. The pleasure is not just there, it's where it starts and centres, but is spreads in waves through all of my skin, it flexes my muscles, makes my pussy pulse, hardens my nipples, glazes my eyes and makes my mouth open in a not-entirely-controlable moan, my tongue reaching out to lick and flick around my puffed-up lips.

I'm addicted to pleasure, lover, the irresistible fireworks of delight, the waves of euphoria crashing through me, the pure joy of the moments when the mind folds on itself, the walls fall and for the time being, everything else disappears; the big ones of age, death and futility, the minor ones of sagging stretch-marks and the overdraft, not even to mention the utter ridiculousness of inserting bits of moulded plastic into one's orifices, however desirable the goal.

But ridiculousness really doesn't matter now. I'm floating in a sea of desire and it's just the right time to reach for the blue plug, my ass already stretched by my fingers and copiously lubricated by the rivulets of sticky liquid flowing from my cunt; wanting.

I slide it in almost effortlessly, it feels good to be filled and even better to imagine you doing the same, though I suppose you'll need to lube it up somehow.

My body responds immediately, my cunt tightens and my nipples grow harder and more erect against the lace of my bra. I spread my legs wider, raise my knees. My hips buck as my hand starts moving faster on my throbbing clit, the fingers of the other tweaking, squeezing and pulling my nipples.

As I work my clit, fingers strumming, rubbing, stroking, sliding up and down, circling the rock-hard bud, I picture you, lover, working your cock, stroking, squeezing and rubbing in the same rhythm. I imagine my hand and my mouth on your cock, and your hand and your mouth on my clit, your tongue in my pussy.

And, then, at times, it's your hand on your clit and my hand on my cock, and at others, my hand on your clit and your hand on my cock, and by then, despite the five hours and almost four thousand miles that lie between us, we are one.

And now the weight and pressure mounting inside my body takes me to the tipping point. My nipples are rock hard and so unbearably sensitive that I moan every time my fingers brush or tweak one, my whole sex is throbbing, my smoothly shaven slit slick with the copious juices that are dripping out, my cunt is tight and high, my ass stretched and tense.

The hand between my legs is moving faster, pressing harder - I imagine your hand moving faster and pressing harder too.

I flick my fingers from the throbbing centre of my arousal to my filled ass, hold the base of the plug in my fingers, pull it out a little, helped by the frantically relaxing and contracting sphincter.

I fuck my ass with the small blue bullet-shaped toy, then push it back in, to return to my achingly tense core which only needs a few strokes now to flood my whole body with the hot, spreading waves of overflowing pleasure, washing over my skin in the same rhythm my cunt and ass are pulsating.

I think I might be screaming now, lover, and if I am not it's only because I bite hard on the pillow, my hips bucking, my body splintering into pieces and coming back together again until my muscles relax and I lie there, stretched and satisfied, the toys pushed out, my legs and arms heavy, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

I picture you in the same delicious state, your body covered in a thin layer of orgasmic sweat just like mine, your hand damp and sticky with your cum.

I'm going to lick my fingers clean now, lover.

Do the same, and dream of me.

~~~~~~

Dear readers,

I hope you enjoyed my exhibitionist display.

Let me know if you did. Let me know if you didn't.

If you are wondering whether any of this is ''real'' or ''true'', whatever these words mean, you should probably message me with a nice note and a nice vote and I may just answer.

The usual thanks to the usual for filling my mind with horny images, ideas and words and for all the licks and strokes and moans too.

M .