CHAPTER 6

It’s 5:00 AM and the room is still cloaked in that heavy, pre-dawn blue, but Jessica’s body is already wide awake and screaming for attention. 

She shifts under the silk sheets, and the friction of the fabric against her clit sends a lightning bolt of sensation through her. 

Her clit felt like a live wire, swollen and sore in that delicious, achy way that reminded her exactly how many times she’d come the night before. 

Most women have a little pearl down there but Jessica has a monster. Her clit is a thick, protruding nub that could rival a day-old baby boy’s penis in size. 

It's rare, and she’s spent years worshiping. She loves the way she can actually wrap her thumb and forefinger around it and squeeze until her vision blurs. 

To Jessica, it’s her own personal joystick, that gives her world-ending orgasms average women only read about in shitty romance novels.

When she stood naked in front of her full-length mirror, it was the star of the show especially since her vulva was so heavy that it created a perfect, mouth-watering grape shape whenever she squeezed into her tightest office pants. 

The alarm clock on the nightstand starts its shrill buzzing and Jessica groans, swinging a blind hand out to smack the "snooze" button into silence. 

Monday morning. The thought of another day at the office makes her skin crawl, but the frustration only adds fuel to the fire already burning in her thighs. The vibrating sensation in her clit is heavier now, and something must be done.

She’s sleeping naked, the way she always does, because she can’t stand the thought of anything trapping her release. 

She doesn't wait. Her hand slides down her flat stomach, her fingers disappearing into the wet, sticky juice already pooling between her thighs. She’s a fountain every morning, because her pussy runs like a faucet at the mere thought of a little self-service. 

The clit grows at attention, a hard, pulsing nub of electricity that throbs under the continuous, punishing circling of her thumb. It feels like a literal lightning rod now, drawing in every stray spark of excitement from her core and spreading it throughout it makes her legs numb.

The sheets were already damp, smelling like her own musky, feminine scent. Jessica’s breath hitched as she hooked two fingers around that thick, protruding clit. 

She was a flexible bitch, too. Sometimes, when the yearning got too loud and she didn't want a toy, she’d pretzel herself in front of the vanity mirror, folding her long legs back until she could reach down and use her own tongue on herself. She loved watching her reflection—seeing her own mouth work over her unapologetic wetness and the way she can make herself come in under three minutes when she’s really focused.

This morning, she didn't have time for the full show, but she wasn't leaving this bed without a payoff. She arched her back, her blonde hair fanning out across the pillow as she began to work her fingers in a rhythmic circle. 

The oceans were already coming; she could feel the slick, creamy overflow coating her knuckles. 

"Fuck," she whispered to the empty room, her toes curling toward the footboard. 

Her clit hummed under her touch, more sensitive by the minute. Every stroke sent a jolt directly to her brain, making her work herself faster, her hips bucking off the mattress as she chased the edge. 

She wanted that soul-shaking release that only a girl with her specific equipment could achieve. 

She doesn't even have to try; her pussy is a goddamn ocean, as she slides her hand down, using her other fingers to find her pussy hole, going back and forth while the other hand continues pressing on the clit.

She can feel the orgasm building like a thunderstorm over the Thames. Her jaw clenches, toes curling into the sheets as she gives herself five more minutes of this bliss before the busy world demands she put on a bra and pretend to be a functioning member of society.

She holds the squeeze, body vibrating, waiting for the hot mess of her climax.

In the imagination of her mind, she sees a broad-shouldered, beardy man who has a chiseled, muscular physique that looks like it was carved from granite. He’s the faceless man that’s lived in her imagination for years. In her mind’s eye, he’s between her legs, using a tireless tongue to eat her brains out. 

She knows he exists. She knows that when their energies finally collide, she’ll unlock a level of filth and euphoria that a vibrating plastic stick could never touch.

It’s been six months since her last boyfriend, a guy who looked the part but lacked the soul-deep energy she craved. She’s been technically celibate, which in Jessica’s world just means her local sex toy rep has her on speed dial for when new stocks arrive.

But for now, the stick has to do.

As the pleasure becomes too much to handle with fingers alone, she reaches for the nightstand, grabbing the dildo waiting there. With a sharp inhale, she inserts it into her, running pussy, gasping as it fills her to the brim. 

The device roars to life, so aggressively she’s certain her nosy neighbor is currently pressing an ear against the thin apartment wall. Jessica couldn't give a fuck. 

She abandons her clit for a moment, letting the machine do the drilling. Her back arches off the mattress, as it keeps probing against her G-spot, relentlessly. 

She doesn't reach for a pillow to muffle the sound; she hates the idea of hiding. Instead, she throws her head back and lets it all out. 

The build-up is a violent, rising tide. "God, yes!" her voice breaks.

The orgasm staggers her, making her cry a moan, as the pussy-juices soaked into her fingers. Her body jolts, her thighs trembling uncontrollably by the white-hot electricity that flows through her. 

She stays there for a long minute, pinned to the bed, breathing like she’s just run a marathon through the heart of the city.