Friday writing prompt: Please yourself

[EmilyMiller]

A list of other writing prompts appears here

https://forum.literotica.com/threads/collated-writing-prompts.1654433/

—

It’s nine o’clock. He’s on a business trip. And - of course - I’m missing him. And - of course - I’m feeling horny. In other news, the Pope shits in the… wait, that’s not right. Anyway… I know he’s also currently at a restaurant with some of the local leadership. No way he can excuse himself.

“Um… sorry guys,” it’s likely mostly guys, “I just need to help my sex-starved wife get off. Yeah, Emily, that’s right. No, same last name as me now. Back in a few minutes, OK?”

I put down the book I’ve been failing to read. I guess I need to take matters into my own hands, literally.

I look at my nightstand. My iPad is resting on top of it and is fully charged, but I don’t feel in a porn kinda mood; it’s more fun with two. The drawer contains all sorts of exciting things, mostly of the buzzing and probing variety, but that’s not the vibe I’m after this evening either. I guess it’s time for the classics.

I wriggle down on the bed, so I’m mostly lying flat, just my head nestled on the pillows. I’d not bothered with PJs, so I’m just in one of his T-shirts - despite my defective olfactory system, I can still sense him just a little - and a pair of plain, white panties. I bend my knees a little and then let my legs loll sideways.

I close my eyes and allow my fingers to explore. Into my mind I bring a memory of - well it’s kinda private, I’m already sharing too much, right? In any case, the images flowing through my head, combined with my digits applying pressure, are having the desired result. Mmm… feels nice. I really should cut to parrots now. A girl should be allowed some privacy.

OK, as you asked nicely…

I’m too lazy to take off the T-shirt, instead I pull it up and off my breasts. I incline my head to breathe in the scrunched-up material. So wish he was here. But a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do.

I lick the tips of my left hand and move them to their matching nipple. Rolling it between finger and thumb is nice. A little more pressure. My right hand slips past the waistband of my panties. No need for saliva here, I draw some lubrication up from my wet opening to my needy clitoris and begin to massage more firmly.

The tableau filling my brain is also suffusing my body with heat. And my hands are fanning the flames. I momentarily think I should have put a towel down, then no way am I going to stop now.

I pinch my nipple harder. I arch my back, my head disappearing into the yielding pillows. And my right hand is moving frenziedly now. The fires are spreading, engulfing more and more of my throbbing flesh. The flames raging hotter and higher. Until…

I scream his name as my body gives in to overwhelming excitation and my climax crashes through me. Leaving me shaking, panting, trembling. But - thankfully for the good of the bedding - not ejaculating; then that seldom happens.

My phone rings. I see his name.

“Hi, hun.”

“Oh, not much. The usual. What are you up to?”

 

[StillStunned]

Pleasing Myself: An Illustrated Story

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[EmilyMiller]

Pleasing Myself: An Illustrated Story

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Once you start down the illustrated path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will.

 

[StillStunned]

Once you start down the illustrated path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will.

 

[StillStunned]

Alternatively, from a WIP provisionally titled "The Unknown Lady On The Beach":

The sunlight turned the screen of my phone into the smoothest mirror I could hope for. All I had to do was angle it just right, without any sudden or suspicious movements, and– there! a flash of leg, and another.

She was lying on her back still, with her knees drawn up so the soles of her feet were flat on the towel. Her head was turned to look at her ereader, held upright by the fingers of one hand. Still trying to be natural, I managed to get the screen in the right position to see properly – and almost dropped the phone.

That scrap of pale green nylon between her legs was barely visible. Her free hand was on it, fingers gently pressing and making small movements that coincided with another soft grunt.

She’s– she’s rubbing herself!

It was such a shock that I fumbled the phone, and fumbled it again as I hurried to find the right angle again. It couldn’t have taken more than three seconds, but my heart was pounding so fast that it felt like an hour, like I was missing everything.

No, her fingers were still resting on her bikini. Just as I reframed the image, one slender finger slid down further, almost to where her crack would be. When it glided up again, there was a clear dent in the material where it had been pressed against her entrance.

She was obviously turned on. Presumably the book she was reading had triggered it. I shifted the phone to see her face, and it confirmed my suspicion. I couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but her mouth was slightly open, her lips full and red, shining in the sunlight as her tongue caressed them. There was a flush on the underside of her neck that had nothing to do with sunburn.

The slender finger slid down again, and this time the grunt was almost a moan. Her head turned a fraction in my direction, as if to see whether I’d heard. I pretended to be busy and oblivious, and she returned her attention to her book.

The finger began to stroke up and down, the nail gliding over the material of her bikini until the contours of her folds showed through. She began to follow them over the nylon, tracing the outlines first with her fingernail, then with the tip.

The leg closest to me dropped until her knee rested on the towel. Or on the sand beside it, actually. For a moment I wondered whether it was an invitation, what she’d do if I rose and offered my services.

But no, I reasoned that wasn’t what she wanted. Just because she was horny didn’t mean she wanted a stranger to fuck her. Presumably my unaware presence, my gaze and mind fixed on my phone, was a big part of the thrill for her. And for her to continue, and for me to continue to watch, I had to remain unaware.

 

[Duil2]

“Please yourself, sir, but can’t we tempt you to avail of the ‘all you can eat’ buffet?” she asked, waving her hand along the delicious morsels on offer.

“I’m trying to cut down… not over-indulge, y’know?” While this establishment was exclusive and private to the point of paranoia, self-denial was better than gluttony in this situation, I felt.

“Oh yes, I quite understand. Everything is so inviting and delectable, I can imagine it’s difficult to resist gorging yourself. Would it help, sir, if we set a limit for you?”

It seemed this young woman wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Her ‘please yourself’ statement, only a politeness. “Okay, fine, a limit would be helpful, thank you.”

“An excellent decision. Let’s agree on one main and then we can switch it up for dessert.” Her enthusiasm wasn’t surprising. Even the reduced choices would set me back a good chunk of change, and most of that would fatten their profit margin, there was no doubt.

Once again, I cast my gaze over everything. I admired each unique presentation. Several different cultures were represented, a few of which I’d never tried before. I pointed. “That one for the main, I think, and those two for the switched up dessert.”

“All discerning choices, sir. They should complement one another well.” She spun away, clapping her hands and preparations began.

A well-dressed young man led me to a booth. The high sides afforded me some privacy, but didn’t shut me off from the rest of the floor which pleased me. Watching and being watched was a hobby of mine. He gestured for me to take a seat on the built-in leather couch at the back of the booth.

My first selection arrived. The main.

The young naked woman strode towards me with a combination of gentleness and confidence in her movements. She greeted me with a slight head tilt which I acknowledged silently. She was tall, willowy, but not skinny, and the russet colour of her long hair was mirrored in the trimmed patch, further down her body. Her skin was pale, like fine porcelain.

The young man helped her into the specially designed chair. She settled her position and he turned it towards me. It was at exactly the correct height for me to savour this particularly decadent meal.

Her musk filled my senses. Woman with a hint of vanilla. I pleased myself. Gormandizing on her beauty, smell, taste and finally her vocalised pleasure. We both finished, breathless. The bliss-filled smile she bestowed, fed my ego. I used my napkin to wipe her special juices from my lips and watched her leave.

“And for dessert, sir.” The young man led my final choices into the area. Identical twins, a speciality of the house. Twice the shiny shoulder-length black hair, twice the deep blue eyes, twice the lightly tanned and tattooed skin, twice the belly button piercings which gave me hope for other piercings.

They crawled up, with feline grace, either side of me. I rested my hands onto the backs of their heads and then stroked their spines. My sense of time passing faded, as sensation took over. Warm, moist, heat. Lapping, delightfully pierced tongues with throaty hums. My dessert cream fed them. One, then the other, twice the appetite.

‘Please yourself’, she’d said and so I had, but not selfishly, I hoped.

 

[Rob_Royale]

Mark looked forward to the garden party every year. Surrounded by his best friends and lovers it was always a blast. Most were nude, walking around chatting, carrying red solo cups, as a light rock mix played in the background. Some wore fetish gear or lingerie and there was an electricity in the air. Something was going to happen but nobody knew exactly when, so the vibe was pure anticipation.

Last year it hadn't happened until the dessert had been served and the things the toppings and whipped cream had been used for was nothing short of debaucherous.

And then it happened. The song changed and the voice of Ricky Nelson sang a tune you don't hear very often.
"I went to a garden party, to reminiscence with my old friends."
Everyone froze, and glanced around excitedly and began moving towards the chairs and tables, chaise lounges, and bean bags, that were spread around the yard.

Mark sat down in a nearby bean bag and the vinyl was cool against his skin and he heard the air hissing out of it as he sank into the chair.

"When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name." Ricky continued and people began to rush like a game of muscial chairs as the seats began to fill up.

A woman Mark had long admired, sat across from him, and their eyes met as she straddled the chaise and opened her legs wide, revealing her shaved pussy.

"You see, you can't please everyone, so you've got to please yourself," came the chorus that everyone had been waiting for and Mark grasped his cock that was already quite hard and started stroking as he watched the glorious brunette across from him, pull a vibrator from her bag and after turning it on, begin stroking it over her pussy lips.

"There was magic in the air."

Mark sighed as he leaned back and felt his heart race as he watched his neighbors masturbating and with the greatest self control slowed his hand, wanting this magical moment to last for a while.

"I love garden parties," Mark thought as he watched his lovely neighbor slide the vibrator inside her pussy with a wanton moan. "I just love them."

 

[FrancesScott]

This is a sort of brief epilogue to Abby’s Sapphic Deliberations:

“What are you thinking, Abby?” asked Mel, turning her face toward me. She hadn’t put her contacts in yet after waking, and she pushed her glasses back up her long, thin nose as she spoke.

“Oh, nothing,” I lied.

“Not having second thoughts about this, are you?” she prompted. I knew her well by now, and realized she was concerned about me, and not just giving voice to her own insecurities.

“No,” I replied, wracking my brain for what the right normie thing was to say. “I’m… pleased. We’re… good.” I could hear the hesitancy in my own voice.

Melissa took my hand and squeezed it. “It’s OK, Abby. Me moving in is a big deal. It’s OK if you have… feelings about it. Doubts even.”

I saw nothing but genuine understanding for my emotional state in her eyes. But still…

“I… er… I’m… I’m… delighted.” I wasn’t convincing myself, let alone her. But - even with Mel - it felt too hard to articulate my actual thoughts. I just wasn’t used to doing that. Maybe with Riley sometimes, then auties understood other auties.

“Abby!” Mel’s voice cut through my internal, mental peregrinations. “Please. Yourself, OK? Just be yourself. What are you thinking? What are you feeling?”

For a moment I just stared at her. It was so tropey to say time stood still, but no other description really fit. Mel raised her eyebrows and parted her lips, signaling her encouragement with a slight head movement.

It felt scary to lay aside my mask. Super scary. But… if not with Mel, then with whom? Trying to ignore my fluttering heart and irregular breathing, I began.

“I… I’m absolutely terrified. Terrified of messing this up. Terrified that you’ll get to really know me and walk out the door. Terrified that I’ll say something stupid - like maybe what I’m saying right now - and you’ll leave. And… and now I’m hyperventilating.”

Mel let the tsunami wash over her. I knew what I was doing, catastrophizing as always, but self-awareness is not the same as self-control. She stroked my arm and my breathing slowly settled back down.

I’d cast my eyes to the floor, but now Melissa raised my face, fingers under my chin.

“Hey,” she began softly. “Soooo, translating that from Abbyspeak, I’m hearing that you care and want things to go well, right?”

I nodded, tears forming in my eyes.

“OK,” she continued, “my turn.”

With that she cupped my face and moved hers to just a few centimeters from mine.

“I love you, Abby. I want to live with you. And I know the real you already. We’re gonna be just fine.”

She paused and nodded a few times, her eyes still locked on mine. “I’m scared too, Abby. But only because I really want this to work out. Isn’t that better than the opposite?”

I realized she was right and was about to respond when instead Mel’s lips were pressed against mine and I could think of nothing more than pressing back.

 

[AStrangeDesire]

I kept looking at the gorgeous thing online. Again and again, like I was on some kind of drug. The gorgeous lines, the sexy face, ugh, so my type. Sure, I was just teasing myself. I knew I shouldn't, really didn't need to do this... But the hunger wouldn't go away.

It finally got too much, so I did it. I whipped it out right there in public, and it felt so good. It didn't take long, but the wait still was agonizing.

Finally, the message came up 'Order placed successfully' and I moaned loudly, while tucking my credit card away.

My joy was interrupted by the girl cleaning off tables next to me. "Sir, this is the Wendy's," she scoffed at the sounds I'd made.

But I didn't care, having bought yet another expensive watch, the delicious agony of delaying the purchased, of drawing it out over weeks, looking, desiring, coveting the thing, until it all became too much and I broke down.

Sure, there was some shame, but also so much joy. And now came the anticipation of waiting for it to be delivered.

--The End--

Note: I don't know why I always have to try and take a slightly different spin on these, I do really enjoy them.
Hopefully it's not a annoying

 

[StillStunned]

A new Friday writing prompt. I should write something. It's the polite thing to do.

He looks at his screen with unseeing eyes. Plot bunnies hop through his mind, leaving their gifts behind. Images, germs of scenes, snippets of dialogue.

It wouldn't be hard. Just a few minutes to write something, just a few lines in support of a fellow poster's thread. The polite thing to do.

Or... or he could work on his story. Be selfish. Please himself.

 

[AStrangeDesire]

A new Friday writing prompt. I should write something. It's the polite thing to do.

He looks at his screen with unseeing eyes. Plot bunnies hop through his mind, leaving their gifts behind. Images, germs of scenes, snippets of dialogue.

It wouldn't be hard. Just a few minutes to write something, just a few lines in support of a fellow poster's thread. The polite thing to do.

Or... or he could work on his story. Be selfish. Please himself.

Emphasis mine, I couldn't help but thinking of Plot Bunnies... well, 'gifts'... and thought, 'that's a very specific fetish'.

 

[anthrodisiac]

Aya touches her clit.

-----

Thank you for attending my hyper-minimalist prompt reponse.

 

[StillStunned]

Emphasis mine, I couldn't help but thinking of Plot Bunnies... well, 'gifts'... and thought, 'that's a very specific fetish'.

I've said it before: the Plot Bunny is like the Easter Bunny. Except they're not chocolate eggs.

 

[liliput1]

If I were Pope, I’d shit in the woods once just so I could laugh privately at the joke any time I encountered it. To please myself.

(I will make a real entry later, but @EmilyMiller put that image in my head and it had to be removed.)

 

[SmilingLez]

I walk alone where the trees thin out.
No one is waiting for me. That feels good.

The air is cold in my lungs. I like the sharpness of it.

My steps slow without asking permission.

Light breaks through the leaves in pieces. I watch it change as I move. Nothing needs me to explain it.

My thoughts stop trying to go anywhere. They just follow my pace. I keep walking anyway.

There is nothing to fix. Nothing to solve.

Only this. Only now.

 

[EmilyMiller]

Aya touches her clit.

-----

Thank you for attending my hyper-minimalist prompt reponse.

The first three words are pure info dump.

 

[anthrodisiac]

The first three words are pure info dump.

Autoorgasm.

 

[liliput1]

The first three words are pure info dump.

So,

Clit.

Or

Clit!

Think I prefer the latter. More emotion.

 

[spiralholly]

(Note: this is an abandoned first-person opening of a story I've been working through)

Mrs. Dowd and Regina's Fever
[ as told by Roberta 'Bobbie' Dowd ]
Up until now I hadn't known there was a stark difference between a moan of suffering and a moan of sexual relief. I mean, it seems obvious upon reflection that they should be different, but I've been hearing this girl suffer with fever, pain, and nausea for half a day, and she had been blissfully quiet for the last few hours, until now.

When Regina moaned.

It was full-throated, unrestrained, unconcerned with the risk of shame or being admonished for interrupting others' sleep; a moan of grateful release.

That moan had shocked my body out of a very dark funk. I was so deep into my head I hadn't realized that my legs had fallen asleep in the reading chair. Legs asleep, but spine now awake. My own nipples stood at attention in a way I hadn't felt in almost two years. Something from below my belly sparked to life, a nascent fire sensing fuel.

As titillated as I was, I had to get myself under control. I was with Regina in this motel bedroom as a caretaker, and should keep my mind set clearly in that mode-- this girl is half my age, a high school senior still very young to the world. Given how her fever had wracked her body earlier, maybe her finding a little personal satisfaction was an indulgence she'd already earned. In a way, it was almost cute.

Regina hissed like she was burnt, but in a good way. She started to pant. Not cutely.

At this point I wasn't sure she even remembered someone else -me- being in the room. I moved quietly to let my legs restore blood flow but consciously resisted the urge to look closer. In a twist of torturous good luck, Regina made it easier for me. She flung the covers off her body, clearly compensating for the excess heat coming from her body. Her underclothes were soaked through with sweat, thin cotton tank and sleep shorts clinging to her like un-shed snakeskin.

I was struck by the raw sexuality of the image and reflexively turned to retrieve my camera bag. As the team photographer I usually have two cameras already loaded with film, though I might do better with a different film speed for lowlight interior shots rather than daytime sports-- NO, Bobbie.

She lay there on the bed, body pulsing with every breath. In discomfort, she adjusted to separate her limbs so that she wouldn't trap heat where skin touched skin. Her right arm was hanging off the edge of the mattress, but the left one was bent to suspend her hand limply above her body as bunched-up covers prevented it from laying flat. The dangling fingers grazed her cotton-stuck nipple in the movement, prompting another hiss and for the peak to tighten into a nub. She then squirmed in place, inducing another graze, another shudder, another hiss. She shifted to arch her back a little, the yearning left breast seeking the fingers to stimulate her further.

Contact.

It prompted her left hand fingers to grasp onto the hard nipple. She moaned, and her body squirmed into movement again, her right hand diving down beneath the elastic waistband of her sleep shorts to cup her mound and curl fingers into place.

My viewpoint didn't reveal how her fingers were interacting with her privates, but her gyrations suggested she was revving up towards climax quite ably. Her deep gasps echoed in the hotel room. I could feel the heat radiating from her body and so I unbuttoned my shirt collar halfway down. I rose a bit, sitting on the arm of the reading chair to get a better perspective of Regina's overall movements. I kept my legs clenched together and folded beneath for modesty.
Right. That's why. It wasn't to keep my own mutinous hands from trying to mimic Regina's acts.

 

[Soixenta]

God helps those who help themselves, my Mum always said. I doubt that she meant it for this situation. I doubt she ever imagined me in this situation.

I couldn't blame Carl. Not after I'd sent him the picture of my new underwear. Not after the descriptions that I'd texted to him about what I was doing while he was racing home. Not after I greeted him at the door in that new underwear and nothing else.

But I should have realised that he wouldn't waste time on foreplay. Well, it was wasted from his point of view. And admittedly I was wet enough that he slid inside me with ease. And once he was inside me it was wonderful. The weight of his body, the heat of his breath in my neck, his strong fingers clutching at me. The sensations of him filling me, again and again and feeling stretched every time.

Still, I needed more. Carl might have been bursting, but so was I. I needed to come, needed it like a drowning woman needs air, and it wasn't coming any closer.

God helps those who help themselves. I forced my hand between our bodies. Sweat made it easier than it might have been. Carl grunted, lifted himself a little to give me more room. Once my fingers slid over my mound, he pressed down again. His thrusts never paused.

But they didn't need to. I curled my fingers, let the force of his body rub them over my clit, let him do the work while I reaped the benefits.

We worked towards our climax together, rode the wave together, gasping into each other's mouth, clutching at each other's body, surrendering to the pleasure and then surrendering the pleasure to lie beside each other, panting and laughing and loving each other.

God helps those who help themselves.

 

[EmilyMiller]

Just a little reminder to try to not make these too long. We want to avoid any moderator entanglements .

 

[Duil2]

Just a little reminder to try to not make these too long. We want to avoid any moderator entanglements .

Oh so @anthrodisiac was really just sucking up to the moderator with the hyper-minimalist response, then?

Aya touches her clit.

-----

Thank you for attending my hyper-minimalist prompt reponse.

p.s. how long is too long? For a prompt response, I mean...

 

[EmilyMiller]

Oh so @anthrodisiac was really just sucking up to the moderator with the hyper-minimalist response, then?

p.s. how long is too long? For a prompt response, I mean...

There isn’t any hard and fast answer I’ve posted ~700 words on occasion myself. Probably maintaining a thread average of say 400 - 500 words (a few longer and few shorter) would be fine.

There is a prohibition on posting long story excerpts, especially if they have been rejected. @AH_Mod is normally fine with writing execises / prompts, so long as they don’t end up being War and Peace.

 

[anthrodisiac]

There isn’t any hard and fast answer I’ve posted ~700 words on occasion myself. Probably maintaining a thread average of say 400 - 500 words (a few longer and few shorter) would be fine.

There is a prohibition on posting long story excerpts, especially if they have been rejected. @AH_Mod is normally fine with writing execises / prompts, so long as they don’t end up being War and Peace.

What about Whore and Please?

I just spawned about 20,000 plot bunnies with that title I suspect.

 

[EmilyMiller]

What about Whore and Please?

I just spawned about 20,000 plot bunnies with that title I suspect.

I’m considering a sequel to WhoreBnB - that title amused me so much. 30,000 words much.