7 comments/ 80096 views/ 3 favorites Autoerotica By: TheEarl Autosexuality - where a person falls in love and enjoys making love to themselves. Autoerotica - erotic stories on the subject of autosexuality. Hope you enjoy this story. If you liked this one, you might like ‘From a Boeing 747’ as well. Remember to vote and send feedback when you’ve finished. The nicer you are to me, the more I’ll write. This story is dedicated to Svenskaflicka, who provided the inspiration for part of it and more importantly gave me permission to use the idea. As always great thanks go to Wild Sweet One (God bless her little cotton socks) for wonderful editorial work on this and others. I am lying in bed, eyes closed, but far from sleep. The cold cotton of the fresh sheets caresses my body and I feel my nipples harden against the harsh texture. I wriggle further under the duvet, trying to warm up. The room is cold and I can feel a draft coming in from the half-closed window. I briefly debate whether to get up and shut it, but decide I can’t be arsed. The house seems so lonely when everyone else is asleep – so calm and so quiet, like the entire world has shut down. I am left all alone, the only evidence of a lost world gone to dust. I turn over, wrapping myself further in the duvet. I have to be up early tomorrow morning, yet my body refuses to co-operate and go to sleep. I’m thirsty. And I’m hungry. And that draft is starting to bug me now. I turn over and watch the curtains billowing out, stretching over the cushion of air and try to ignore all the reasons why I need to get up. To top it all, I’m really horny. My husband has been away on business in France for a fortnight and was supposed to be coming home today. I’d planned a big reunion: candlelit dinner, sexy lingerie, all the whipped cream we could need, but he’s been delayed by French traffic control. Probably trying to find a motel somewhere in Paris. Poor hubby. It’s left me all prepared for a long night of loving, but with no-one to share it with. God, bloody French. I amuse myself briefly with the question of whether me murdering the traffic controller who’s sentenced me to yet another night without hubby would be considered a crime de passion, but decide that at best I’d still get manslaughter. Killing while in a state of constant arousal – no court could resist that plea. I roll over to lie on my back, still trying to get comfortable and start to think of Michael. I imagine him walking in through the front door, throwing his coat to the ground and joining me in the bed, both of us tearing at each other’s clothes as his strong hands wind round my body, caressing and squeezing me… Oh nice going Loren. Now I’m even more horny and I don’t fancy the chances of Michael coming home tonight. I suddenly realise that with all these ruminations, I’ve been absent-mindedly playing with myself. One hand is at my breasts and the other is stroking my inner thigh. I shiver as my fingers move slightly further up my leg, just brushing against my pussy, before sliding up my body to move over my stomach. I bite my lip, enjoying the feeling of fingertips sliding over the flat of my stomach, dragging slowly round in little circles. My eyes are closed and I’m imagining that Michael’s doing this to me. My other hand cups my breast and teases the nipple, my thumb running around the crinkled skin of my aureola. I love it when someone takes the time to play with my breasts; they’re so sensitive. I move my other hand up and run my fingernails down the upper hemisphere, enjoying the contrast of touch between that and my palm on the underside. My breathing’s getting deeper now. I open my eyes and watch my breasts move as I breathe. My nipples bob in the air and the cold draft of air is now exciting as it plays across them. I reluctantly leave them alone, both hands sliding down my body, gliding across my stomach towards my pussy. Playing with my tits is great, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not going to cum that way. One hand stops just before my crotch and begins rubbing on the area just below my navel. The other has continued down and is now playing on the inside of my thighs, taunting, teasing and tantalising, but never quite touching. I love it when Michael does this to me. He can sometimes spend hours just on my inner thigh, driving me to distraction. I never have the self discipline to do it to myself for long enough though and I can already feel my fingertips edge closer towards my pussy. I run one finger up my slit, dallying on my clit for just a second. The sensations are enough to have my hips bucking, trying to push my quim into my hand. I whimper involuntarily and then start circling round my clit. It’s too sensitive to touch directly just yet, but my fingers play all around it, brushing over the hood, each touch a lightening bolt through my nerves. My other hand is now reaching out to the side, scrabbling through the underwear in my bedside drawer. Where is it, where is it? I really don’t want to have to sit up to look in the drawer, cause then I’d have to stop touching myself and it’s feeling so good. My fingers scour the drawer and close round a smooth cylindrical object – my vibrator. I say ‘my vibrator’ like it’s the only one, but I have several. My little one that looks like a lipstick that I keep in my handbag, my fingertip one, the bullet one that Michael sometimes puts in his mouth when he licks me and which makes his entire jaw vibrate. This is my favourite though. I wrap my hand around it and hold it to my chest, the cold of the plastic a shock against my skin. I roll it over my tits, ostensibly to warm it up, but really just to feel the rush that I get from touching it against my nipples. My pussy is really wet now and I allow my finger to just slide inside. It feels so good and I twist my wrist around so I can press on my G-spot. My arousal jumps much higher and I gasp, my entire body stiffening with the touch. I do it again, the gasp transmuting into a long drawn out moan this time as I run my finger over my clit. I move the silvery vibrator down my body, dragging the tip across my skin from just under my jaw, over my breasts, down my stomach and onto my mound. One of the reasons I like this vibrator so much is because it reminds me of that scene from Blade where the villain draws the tip of a silver stake across the heroine’s body. My mind drifts onto Wesley Snipes topless, strong muscled arms lifting me up, tearing away my clothes. I close my eyes, imagining it being his fingers that are playing with me, his hand holding the vibrator. I switch on my vibrator when the tip is just above my pussy, on the slight mound where my pubic hair starts. The low throbbing travels all through my body from here and the dim vibration comes very close to tipping me over the edge even from this distance. I turn it down, not wanting to cum quickly and spoil the moment. The tip of the vibrator touches my pussy lips and I just hold it there for a second. I can feel my clit throbbing, fully out of its hood now and the breeze playing across my erect nipples makes me shudder. The low vibrations ripple through my pussy and I can hear my gasping breathing, loud in the silent room. It feels like I’m outside of my body, watching this as an observer as I slide the vibrator slowly into me, thrilling with the feeling of being slightly stretched and stimulated. My fingertips run over my clit, and I start drawing little circles. The feeling is so intense that it’s almost painful, but I can handle it now; anything less would be a disappointment. I start to whimper; I can feel my orgasm building up inside me now. I know that I’ve gone past the point of no return. I’m not coming yet, but I will any second. I squeeze my eyes shut until bright lights flash behind my eyelids. My finger is moving faster on my clit. I couldn’t stop moving it even if I wanted to; I need this. My whimper gets louder and louder, turning into a wordless moan as I feel myself tip over the edge and into the delicious release of orgasm. My pussy is contracting around the vibrator and my entire body seems to be throbbing with it. Waves of pleasure rush over me, sweeping me away from consciousness as all my senses white out in a tsunami of ecstasy. I lay, now quiet, in sweat drenched sheets, my entire body too exhausted to even move. The draft whispers across my body again and I turn my head, watching the billowing curtains straining with the pressure of the air. I really should shut that window, but I can’t be bothered now. I feel as though I’m sinking into the bed, the effort of my pleasures making me just too heavy to be supported by such a shallow thing. It takes a great effort to reach down and retrieve the vibrator, turn it off and toss it into my underwear drawer. I’ll clean it in the morning. I lie there and think of what I’ll do to hubby when he comes home. Mmmm. A slow smile spreads across my face and I drift off to sleep, my mind filled with happy thoughts. Thank you for reading. Don’t forget to vote and give feedback before you leave. I respond to every e-mail I can. Autoerotica Here I am at my first ever book festival Many people are milling around, drinking shitty white wine from plastic tumblers. But I'm not here to get drunk. I'm heading straight to see >>>>>> >>>>>>> I heard she was signing books here and, to be honest, that's the only reason I came. I'm gonna ask her out on a date. I push through the crowds of squawking culture-vultures. And suddenly I see her. She is wearing very skintight, multi-coloured clothes and shines like a beacon. She is sitting at a desk signing books. There is a very long queue. I grab a beer and join the line. There are about 20 people in front of me. They all have books just like me. This means that, potentially, 20 people might ask her out on a date before I get a chance. What if she hits it off with one of them? I can feel beads of sweat coalescing on my brow as anxiety sweeps over me. I glare at each of them in turn, shaking with anger, hoping that their tongues will suddenly swell from anaphylactic shock and they will drop to the ground, asphyxiating.. I picture >>>>>> >>>>>>> chatting to each of them, smiling, laughing, impressed by their wit and poise, looking away as she laughs and then furtively looking back through downturned lashes. Then being taken by the hand and gently led away, enraptured by her new suitor, while the rest of us look on in dismay. I stare hard at the back of each of their heads as they walk up to her, willing aneurysms to rupture in their brains before they reach the desk. But then I notice that she is just signing books and saying hello. Smiling a gorgeous, plastic smile. A smile that says "I'm just waiting for this to be over. Please don't make it any more of a pain than it already is." So I'm reassured; she's not interested in them. Finally it's my turn. I walk towards her, holding the book in front of me, but I don't give it to her to sign. Instead I hold it up like I'm a salesman demonstrating some product and say, "This is a good book." "Thanks" Her hand is held out to take it from me. "This is a very good book." "Thanks" she says again and stretches out her hand a bit further. At that moment I have a sudden mental image of me eating her pussy while she is sitting on a big pile of copies of Autofiction. I am going for it, licking furiously at her really wet pussy while she is arching her back and screaming as she orgasms. The thought makes me stop dead, frozen. A blushing snowman. Then suddenly it occurs to me that she can maybe read minds or is so super-intelligent that she knows exactly what I am thinking. So I try not to think of that; at any cost to think of something else. I close my eyes to concentrate. But instead I've got another vision; of me screwing her from behind and of her grinding her hips down onto mine so that my cock is deep inside her and we both have intent, ecstatic expressions as I slam my penis into her again and again, as deep and hard as I can. She looks a bit surprised when I open one eye and I wonder if she is shocked at what I am thinking or if it's just because I'm standing there like a statue. But then I decide to assume the worst: she can read minds; she knows I'm thinking about us making love. So I decide to send her a mental image of what our date will be like, with all the less explicit bits edited out. The Date We're dancing in the club for ages, sweating and high. She is rubbing herself against me, I am caressing her ass. Abruptly we are kissing and stroking each other, our kisses wild, our faces covered in saliva. Soon we are in the bedroom, kissing and talking. She is sitting straddling me. We are both aroused and wet under our clothes. Finally we can't stand it any more and start to rip each others' clothes off. These mental images take a few seconds to complete, in which time I have put the book down and leant on the desk, looking down at her. >>>>>> >>>>>>> looks even more perplexed. Then suddenly with a 'snap' I am inside my mental image that she can read from my mind, inside her mind. She is there too and she makes another mental image where we are naked and she is sitting on top of me, riding me, with my cock deep inside her and she is sliding up and down on it and I am kissing her. I think we are on a bed on an island in the middle of a lake with mountains all around. Anyway, it's a nice spot. We fuck like that for hours; wild, sweating, fast, violent in a rage of sexual passion and then slow, hot, languorous, dripping, pounding endlessly. Flowing and dynamic; from one extreme to another; becoming one whilst time and space disintegrate and we float like pure energy; two perfect waves combined into one; in sync with the throbbing heart of the universe. Until finally, utterly exhausted and satisfied, soaked in each others' bodily fluids like newborns, we collapse onto the bed. And suddenly I am back in the conference room with the other book lovers and I realise that all that epic amazing fuck had taken place in the 5th dimension. Beyond time. And so had not even lasted an instant. But >>>>>> >>>>>>> is still there in front of me, as lovely as ever, still with the same perplexed look on her face. She gets up from her chair, snatches the book from me and sits down again, hastily signing the copy of her novel. With a stunning yet impenetrable smile she hands it back to me and says "Bye-bye" I'm speechless for a few moments, then I start to stammer, barely intelligible, "W...Would y...you..." "No way, creep" She cuts me off. A frown passes over her face like the only cloud crossing the sun of a pristine azure sky. I turn into a snowman again. But I don't melt, I sublime straight into a gas and my molecules float up to the ceiling and slowly evaporate out through an air vent. The End