Newphoria

A dreary breeze falters into the morning, a deceivingly icy wind comes through the window, grey clouds muffle the concrete that was not long ago glistening golden. Freedom from the slowness, the restraint untied, ice cold drink and porridge with fresh fruit, a return to the simplicity of calmer times.

You turn the TV on, the day cheats its way to fading into much later in the morning, 10.30am and still in your pink chemise from bed time, there appears to be nothing at all to watch on TV, just the same old repeated news about the pandemic and ineffective chitter chatter about what rules should, and shouldn't be applied.

Maybe it's just the perpetual daily slumber everyone is in, life truly is locked into simple indulgence with the bottom line of no connection. Perhaps this is the pause we were all teased into taking, for the first time a serene derealisation, the world in a state of calm crisis, a million snow storms with terror beyond control.

You find yourself, laying there, feeling the cloud of the slumber, trying to decide what to do in a loss of direction, with a boredom that has a tinge of frustration. A cheeky thought, the little giggle as you think of using your vibrator, a Doxy wand that arrived only a few weeks ago after a late night drunk order. You make your way into your bedroom, pulling the circular knob on the drawer, and under some disorganised clothes, the Doxy lay, still in its box, the security seals only undone to check all was correct.

You feel an almost whipping of horniness, the geyser of a sunken stomach, free flying butterflies shake you, just as the first time. Now back in your living room, the inspiration has sedated your arousal into daring, with you now closing the curtains. 

Only a little dexterity required as you plug the Doxy into the wall, laying on your sofa with your pussy aching to be thrilled in what it dares. Your fingertips slide just under the end of your chemise, a white pattern lines the pink satin. The fabric coming closer to your stomach slowly, your pussy feeling even more teased as the sweet feeling is now constant. 

You navigate the control panel of the Doxy, only then do you commit to what you almost never admit, not in the company of others, whilst the toy autonomically before you know it, is now being delightful down below. The head massages, up and down as the sensations become sweet pin pricks, a shockwave of a jolt as you press the head against your clit.

You keep it there, pushing down to complete the ecstacy, giving your whole pussy the indulgence that you deserve. Not long before the making of your dry spell culminates in a gasp inducing, pillow wetting orgasm. For that minute, you rest on the freedom.

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