An Embarrassment of Riches

I like Saturday mornings.

Not because of any great affinity for being yanked from my slumber by wildlife singing or the sight of the rising sun burning off the previous night's fog. The enjoyment is more prosaic, a pure bout of escapism from my shitty one bedroom apartment with its exposed pipes along the wall, my shitty dead-end job with its shitty bosses (plural), and my shitty personal life without any closeness or intimacy in the foreseeable future. It's the moment when even I, "Crazy Daisy", can get some measure of enjoyment out of my twisted freak show of a body and I am going to savor every second.

I take hold and whip the covers off from the bed, letting them settle on the floor, to be dealt with later. I fully open my eyes as I roll onto my back, grasping my t-shirt and pulling it up, staring at the yellowing plaster and broken fan on my ceiling as it goes. Hmm, that image won't do, not at all sexy, so I close my eyes as I let my hands wander. My breasts never amounted to anything at all, barely enough there to miss qualifying as flat-chested, but my nipples were something special: plump and long and sensitive, they stuck out like the barrels of a pirate ship's cannons and sent jolts of pleasure through my body that electrified me to the core. So they are the natural starting point, my fingers flicking them lightly, taking their time before massaging what little in the way of tits I can claim, then heading down my chest at a deliberate pace to my belly button, circling it lazily with one finger.

Goosebumps rising across my almost translucent skin, following my tentative touch, I close my eyes tighter and try to think of today's fantasy... mmm a guy, bashful and submissive, a virgin? No. Not that, not today. Aggressive, mean even, with experience under his belt, that's what he'll be. What does he look like? He's tall for starters, absurdly tall, like six foot seven and built like a linebacker – all muscle, but not too over the top. Muscular, tall, dominant, what else? Let's take it up a notch further, make him black as well, and not the mainstream cream-in-your-coffee black, but the kind of deep, rich ebony that bleeds into being violet when he's hit by the right light. He's strolling through my door in mind's eye, the small details filing in: shape of his eyes and lips, a half snarl, half smile expression on his face, hairless nude body with a long scar from his left pectoral down to his eight pack abs, his massive hands with scarred up knuckles, and his package – dark like German chocolate, the head a belligerent shade of purple, thick and flared out behind the circumcised head, with angry looking veins crisscrossing the shaft and a set of smooth, fat balls to top it off. It's a powerful fantasy I've constructed and a powerful name pops into mind, completing his character: Jackson.

My fingers come up from my belly, rubbing against my closed lips, imagination in overdrive to turn them from the three pale white digits they are in reality to Jackson's luscious dick of my reverie. Unhurriedly I lick at them, barely extending past my lips before imagination provides me the next step, Jackson growing impatient with my amateur efforts and cramming his manhood into my mouth. In response, I jab my fingers in, keeping up with the façade, surprising myself with my surprise at my own movement, giving my nipple in hand another firm tweak. By now I'm leisurely wriggling on my bed, my arousal rising as I push my fingers a bit past two knuckles deep in my mouth – the veneer of fantasy turning it into a third of Jackson's fat dick, stretching my lips wide as he slides in and out at his pace, not mine. I take my time with it, the mental guiding the physical, sowing the fields for what's yet to come, letting myself spend several long minutes just working with my mouth.

But it's not enough to satisfy me in and of itself, not by a long shot. Thankfully, my brain tells me Jackson has other plans. My fingers slide gracefully from my lips, becoming his deliciously wet cock sliding down my chin and I shudder, taking the moment to hook my thumbs in the waistband of my panties. Raising my legs off the bed I slide the plain white cotton affair off my legs and deftly toss them nowhere in particular. I'm sure to keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see the aberration below my waist, even as I plan to pleasure it, since I know it will retard my utopia's progress to face a stark reminder of my own self. Jackson takes it out on me, giving my other nipple a light slap with wet fingers, drawing a sharp intake of breath as he pushes his cock, even thicker now, back into my open mouth. I want to be a good girl so I suck, four fingers in my mouth now, going well beyond the second knuckles, my tongue licking to earn its keep. God, it's such a wicked thing, so wicked in fact I abandon my nipples for more erogenous pastures, wet fingers flat against my belly, sliding past my stiff cock, pressing my balls together, slipping down either side of my pussy, playing with the outer lips. It's a bit of a squeeze, but a pleasurable one, making my meat twitch between my fingers as I slowly rub the fingers up and down the fleshy bits, tendrils of joy creeping upwards, taking my time with it.

In mind's eye, Jackson is becoming more imposing, his thickness hitting the roof of my mouth, threatening to advance onto the back of my throat, while in reality I need more than four fingers for this part. I tighten my lips, flicking my tongue as the invaders are slowly withdrawn with a soft, wet smack, moaning at their absence as I raise my knees to my chest, keeping my eyes closed and mentally staring Jackson's cock right in its eye. I've never actually pulled this off before, but I've been practicing and there's a first time for everything.

My hand is allowed to fall away from my face, instead gripping the sheets to stabilize myself. I bend my lower body upwards, my legs extending without a conscious thought, seeking purchase on the wall by my head. In my mind, his manhood is even closer now, must be closer now, thick with blood and glistening wet with my spit. I open my mouth, extending my tongue, my toes touching the cracking plaster and walking their way down, bringing it even closer. By now my hips are in the air, weight shifting to my shoulders, only inches away from my goal so I crane my neck, stick out my tongue and at the apex, run it against the tip of my boytoy. Such success, such sweet success, joy rushing down the shaft, causing it to jerk, slipping across my tongue again before its withdrawn.

The hand between my legs is still playing at its own pace below the balls, my pussy ready for digital action of the manual sort, and I need no further invitation to sink one in lightly. I smile as I gently graze my spot. I'm tight and hot and wet, clamping down on my finger as I curl it slightly. It's so encouraging I bend my body again and flick the tip of my girlcock, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin. Jackson is back to mind, roughly handling my pussy as he straddles my chest and teases me with occasional tastes of the fat, shiny purple crown of his penis.

It's a nice mental picture, but I need to step it up with the real thing and, more pragmatically, I'm losing feelings in my feet, so I reluctantly take them off the wall, flopping sideways and rolling off my bed onto hands and knees with about as grace as a container tumbling off an eighteen wheeler; another benefit of my lonely existence is that no one is around to see that particular maneuver. I don't even bother attempting to stand on my semi-numb legs, I just reach to the bottom drawer of my dresser, rummaging around until I find my favorite yellow shoebox, plastered with stickers: Nirvana, Microsoft, Boeing, the Powerpuff Girls, a time capsule of my childhood years. I take off the lid and indelicately remove several items inside – a smooth plastic vibrator, some egg vibrators, pasties and rubber bands – then throw them onto the bed and slam the box shut. It's time to get serious.

Careful to avoid snapping them, I use the rubber bands to hold one egg to the base of my girlcock, just above my tight, hairless balls, letting them double as a cockring. Then I attach one egg each to my fat nipples, using the pasties to keep them in place, ensuring I still have a good seal against the skin. Setting aside the last egg, I stand, examining my handiwork before sliding down on my bed again. I Take my plastic vibrator in-hand and give it a slow slurp before my hand brings it down between my legs – spreading them wide and lifting my balls with my free hand – teasing my slit before hurriedly pushing it inside and setting it on low. A soft moan escapes my lips as the motion works my insides, my free hand letting go of my balls and picking up the egg's controller and turning them on, causing an even more drawn out, raspy moan. The tingles of erotic pleasure spread like wildfire through my body, threatening overstimulation but never quite crossing the precipice. It isn't like anything else I've experienced so my fantasy quickly becomes an opaque haze, the details washed out by the sensations.

My hand starts up a steady beat of the vibe in and out of my pussy, while the egg around my cock hums away. Even the lowest setting is sufficient to cause my balls to tighten up and tremble when being attacked from two directions but I'm not satisfied with that, so I grab the eggs' controller and push it up a notch, letting the vibe settle halfway in. The room fills with a dull, resonating hum and the sound of strained gasps barely getting through gritted teeth for the next few minutes, a symphony of self-love.

Forcing my eyes open, I look down, my cock poking up between the twin mounds of excited flesh, alternating between pointing at the ceiling and pointing at my face as I breathe and it twitches, a string of precum connecting it to my stomach. I reach to the end of the vibrator inside me and turn it up, way up, only one position away from max. My mouth goes dry as sweat glistens across my skin, but my mind wants to damn the torpedoes and go full speed ahead, so I do, cranking the eggs to full. The opacity of my mind increases and in its place I literally see stars, wild multicolored patterns across my vision, the strained breathing now replaced by a pained groaning.

This is torture and I'm doing it to myself. My hand pumps the vibe faster, my hips bucking then hitting the bed with a wet smack, and I realize my juices have spread to my thighs, dripped down my ass and pooled on the sheet beneath, leading to me land in the damp spot. Sacrifices must be made. I refuse to let up, the bands around my girlcock constricting me, forcing the egg tighter as my pussy clamps down around the vibrator, the buzz modulating and my cry rising louder in my throat. Further up my body, the feeling of impeding orgasm has slowly been radiating out from my nipples, and I switch my mental focus to pushing it along.

The waves of joy spread, not slowly, nor quickly, but at the perfect speed and my free hand grips the sheets tight. My orgasm hits unexpectedly, limbs bucking and locked into a series of spasms, my head thrashing as I let out an animalistic squeal, wetness running free from my pussy. But I'm nothing if not merciless on myself and I continue pumping the vibrator in and out as my insides clamp down, causing the sound to modulate.

I spend the next few minutes riding the waves, alternating between deep plunges and rapid thrusting, the eggs attached to my girlcock and nipples rattling my teeth until finally it's too much and I have to peel them off. It takes a while for me to float back down to Earth. I'm lying back, panting and covered in sweat, my toes curling. The rubber bands had held my girlcock off from cumming and so I know what to do next.

Next thing I know, I'm in the shower with a new toy, a realistic dildo with suction cup at the base, which I moisten and stick to the wall upside down, then turn and face the clear shower door. I reach between my legs to work the dildo inside slowly; it's not very big, but slipping up my ass it feels huge and the image of Jackson floods my mind again. Pressing my face against the glass, bending lower and lower, I force myself against dildo, relaxing my hole as it pushes deeper, its upside orientation making it kiss my prostate. My girlcock is delighted by this, wagging like a puppy's tail as it drips precum, swinging back and forth with every thrust. It won't be long now.

I feel my balls tighten up, even without direct stimulation on my cock, and begin taking longer strokes, easing out gradually and slamming myself onto the dildo until finally it smashes into my prostate and I hold it there, the longest three seconds of my life. My girlcock essentially explodes at that point, painting the glass with thick, creamy ropes of cum, unloading everything my balls have to offer while my legs go wobbly. Unable to hold myself steady, I slide down to my knees, water cascading over my body as I whimper, exhausted in the most delightful manner possible.

After a few minutes, I stand, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower to dry off, admiring myself in the mirror, satisfied. Today is a new day.