In which I elaborate on the epic wank I had last night

Ever since your little posse of friends started talking about kink this afternoon, you’ve been anticipating this moment. Bedroom door firmly closed, clothes in a heap on the floor, soft music on the stereo. You’re surveying your collection of sex toys and thinking how much you’ve been looking forward to playing with yourself; it would be a shame if it were over too quickly so the power toys won’t do.

A glass dildo nudging its cold smooth head against your cunt lips, brings a rush of blood surging down in greeting, swelling and sensitising as it arrives. A few languid exploratory thrusts – to test the waters, you grin to yourself – and yes, it slides smoothly, the liquid sounds of your wetness serenading your self-loving caresses.

You’re determined to eke this out as long as you can, your gaze passing over the vibrators and clit-suckers and alighting on the pouch in which your clamps are stored. Yes. Those.

There are three, fastened together with lengths of chain. Fumbling slightly in your eagerness, you attach the lowest one, the brush of your own fingers against your slick, exposed clit making you bite your lip and close your eyes for a moment. When you tighten the fastening, you can feel every movement of the chain translating into slight tugging on the clamp. Small, subtle sensations that flood your cunt and shorten your breath. When the nipple clamps are attached, you stand, sway, twirl and face the mirror, drinking in the sight of gleaming links against your soft light-brown skin, delving into the shadowy black tangle below.

If you rest the hilt of the dildo against the mattress, you can lean forward against the dressing-table and brace yourself with your hands, rock back and forth. The chains swing freely, pulling and pinching and oh god, it feels so deliciously kinky, so gloriously sensual. The glass is warm now, heated by your twitching cunt, it makes itself known in the unyielding curves of its bulbs and ribs as you ride.

You wish, fleetingly, for company; cuffs, collar and crop to complete your eveningwear ensemble, someone else to appreciate along with you, just how fucking hot you look right now. But no, this is you-time, to share would be to dilute the experience.

You stand, and the nipple clamps fall off, an irritating feature of chunky nipples; to tighten the clamps enough to stay in place when you move sharply is a level of pain you can’t tolerate outside subspace. The clit clamp stays, taking the full weight of the dangling chain. You thought it would hurt more than this, but it feels…wonderful. When you rotate your hips, the chain begins to swing, drawing slow circles in the air and pulling gently at its anchor. You wish you had the self-discipline to hold back for longer, but by this time your hungry need outweighs your willpower, and all you can think about is how you need to escalate now, right now, all the way to climax, with no more teasing and no more waiting.

Sprawled facedown on the bed, clit-sucking toy taking the place of the last clamp, glass dildo held tightly inside you by your clenched thighs, you bury your face in the pillow and croon to yourself, “wanton slut” and “little fuckdoll”. Turn up the power, tense against the urge to buck and writhe. Turn up the power again, right to the max, and now you’re screaming into the pillow as the fiery electricity of sensation at your clit spreads and builds, your muscles spasm, and your orgasm burns through every cell in your body leaving you gasping weakly and jerking involuntarily, drooling from mouth and cunt, swept away by the rush. A small part of you would start all over again, but the solo second is never as good as the first and it’s late at night already.

In a minute, you’ll get up, wash and tidy up, settle under the duvet with a blissful smile and drift away to sleep. But not yet; you’re not sure you can move just yet.