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Shagged Out With The Covid19 Blues

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Self abuse in lockdown

Oh god, here she comes again. I don’t think I can take much more of this.

I used to be a treat… a naughty little 'get her in the mood' thing. Maybe once or twice a week, she’d open the dressing table drawer and run her fingers gently along my length. She’d hold me in one hand and lie on the bed, flicking my switch and as I buzzed into life, she’d slowly slide me along her slit. My tip would trace her folds and slowly begin to circle her clit.

Sometimes, she’d push my head inside her, feeling her soft velvet walls gripping me as she panted and squirmed. I could always tell how things were going in her life depending on how I was used. With her hips thrust up into the air, she needed it hard and fast, pushing me deep inside as I buzzed on maximum speed. My tip rotating over her g-spot as her juices flooded over me.

Other times, she’d tease me, her little pink nipples growing and swelling as she slid me over her breasts. Then, slowly, sliding down over her stomach, pushing me between her legs. Her thighs pressed together coquettishly as my head squeezed between them, the vibrations rippling through her, forcing her to roll onto her back, legs spread wantonly as I slid along her length, stimulating every nerve ending as her scent rose, I could feel her dripping as I caressed her. I knew just what she needed and gave it to her, the perfect lover.

I used to relax with the knowledge of a job well done once she’d dropped me on the bed and lain there, basking in the afterglow. I was the good, the great, and the orgasmic.

But not anymore.

Now, I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Well I know she is coming, constantly. I’ve had to change the batteries three times this week already and it’s only Thursday. She hasn’t left the house in weeks, my only hope is she’ll run out of batteries. She’s even stopped getting dressed. I’m there with her mobile phone, dumped on the desk, within easy reach. She pretends to do a few minutes work, then I hear the click click click as she logs into one of the numerous sites she’s been on constantly over the past couple of months. If it’s not Lush for reading stories or fucking in the chatrooms, it’s Pornhub for visual stimulation, sometimes both at the same time.

Last night, I swear I thought my time had come. She was online with someone, typing one-handed, as usual. She had me pressed between her legs. I was sliding along her length, from her clit, down through her folds, her juices smeared all over me. I was vibrating away, trembling her lips as I slid over her entrance, but this time on I went. My head went sliding over and back across her perineum. The tiny stretch of flesh separating her two holes was buzzed and stimulated as her breathing became ragged. I was well lubricated by this stage, I think she was on her third cyber lover of the night when suddenly it happened. With a flick of her wrist, I was pressed against her rosebud. The crinkled dark star slowly opened as I buzzed and vibrated my way against it. Even with my head stuck inside her bum, I could still hear her scream. 

The indignity of it. I was designed for clitoral and vaginal pleasure. It said so on the box and everything. 5 stars from Lovehoney but does that matter? No, of course not. There I was, rammed up her arse like some common or garden dildo as she howled the place down. And afterwards, pulled out of her with a squelchy pop. The poor girl could hardly stand, let alone walk to the bathroom and wash me clean like the instruction booklet recommended. Instead, I was dropped to the floor where I rolled unceremoniously under the bed.

I thought I might get a break, lying there but oh no, first thing this morning, I felt her hand groping around searching for me. A vibrator's life is never dull, especially during lockdown.

Hang on, here’s the doorbell. What’s this? A delivery. Oh please god, no. Twenty-four heavy-duty long-life batteries… HELP!!!!!

 

 

 

 

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