The vibrator was loud like a buzzsaw. A peculiar thing, seeing as it was top of the line. One would have expected a low hum as opposed to it sounding like a tree was being cut down in the bedroom. She was in her preferred position, on her stomach, her legs and arms splayed, looking like a pentagon from above, the internal arm deeply embedded inside her, the external arm pressing against her clit, both arms working in tandem to give her a blended clitoral and G-spot orgasm.
She bit the black satin sheets as her orgasm burst through the tape at the finish line like a hundred-meter sprinter that just did a personal best and still had something left in the tank.
“Oh my God,” she whispered hoarsely through clenched teeth as she turned onto her back and removed the vibrator and turned it off.
In the ensuing silence she could hear the thud of her heartbeat and her laboured breathing. The day she met a man that could give her this level of pleasure, she would keep him. She wasn’t holding her breath though. Especially after the one that had just wasted twelve minutes of her life, ten of it being foreplay. He had been filled with such promise. But when he filled her, he didn’t keep any of them. Tall, broad chested and muscular, average face that a well-manicured beard helped to appear attractive and had a big shaft. It was a waste. Size mattered but so did stroke game, rhythm, stamina and general know-how of when to change positions. All he had was size. He was clumsy like a bull in a China shop, spent his two minutes of penetration trying to batter her cervix.
She looked at her naked form in the mirror above her. Her small breasts sat atop her heaving chest like chocolate muffins, the gold barbells she had put in them two years ago when she went to Thailand to celebrate her entry into her thirties, glistening along with the sheen of perspiration covering her body. She always perspired when she was aroused. And after the three glasses of that dry red wine and three oysters, she had been ready and eager to be ravaged like a Christian virgin who got married to have sex. But things didn’t go as planned. Roland Derring, after talking a good game and begging for the opportunity for the past six months, couldn’t deliver when his number was called.
Her phone beeped. She reached for it. It was a text from Roland.
I’m home now babes.
She sucked her teeth and responded.
I don’t care, sir.
Then she blocked him.