You might feel like you're about to make a mess but keep going. Trust me. That's what one of the reviews for my new toy said. It felt heavy in my hand, made of stainless steel that reflected the light from my nightstand lamp. The tip was curved, a bulbous head designed to hit the mythical G-spot.

My pussy had spent the entire day rubbing against its favorite lace thong. Every step in my pencil skirt around the office had increased the arousal by a tick. Like a timer, except for it being warm and damp, that reminded me of the promise of pleasure I'd made to myself.

Unlike my younger days, I didn't want anyone entering the realm of my mind during my playtime. Focusing on myself didn't come easy. Apparently, I only learned the hard way after marriage and divorce. It required patience and practice, and a solo session was my preferred therapy.

I took a final sip of wine and turned off the lamp. I enjoyed my own company, but I was never truly alone with the speaker playing my favorite tunes. The anticipation had my lips swollen, heart pounding, waiting for my hand to commence. I propped myself up with a couple of pillows and bent my knees, leaving my pussy vulnerable to a new friend.

Let's see if you can make me squirt. The cold tip got a whimper out of me upon contact. I bit my lower lip and showed it who was in control. My sultriness welcomed it, familiarizing itself with its elegant design until my hand reached the end of its motion. I retrieved most of it, hearing a sloshing sound like it was part of the song playing in the background.

I returned it inside, angling it against the front wall. The rounded end glided over the spot. There it is, fuck yes. I repeated that, hitting it twice. Once on the way in, and again on the way out. In that moment, I understood the weight of the toy. It added pressure to the spot, like pressing and holding a button.

I licked the fingertips of my free hand and brought them close to my clit. They were desperate to help extinguish the raging fire. G-spot only, no cheating. I called them back to my breasts at the last second. I couldn't spoil the solo performance by my new toy, I had to see what it could do on its own.

After working it tirelessly, it not longer felt cold. It was lubricated with my juices and awakening my G-spot from its slumber. The reviews were right, I felt the urge to pee faster than I wanted to but ignored it in favor of tracing the same pattern. A stream of juices proved me right, leaving a trail down my slit and onto the towel under my butt.

"Mmmnn fuck!" I cried, pinching one nipple, no longer able to confine my words inside my head. "Make me fucking squirt."

The strain and fatigue set in on my wrist. I pushed through. Mind over body was another recommended approach. It beat meditating. My focus shifted solely to my G-spot, hitting it faster every time. I clenched my teeth and curled my toes. The waves of ecstasy overflowed the edge, manifesting in more juices that drowned out my moans.

The engineering marvel, in the form of a curved, steel toy, didn't have any electrical components but charged my body to its full capacity. For my G-spot, it was a newfound addiction, but my clit swelled with jealousy. It demanded attention, plotting its revenge for my next session.

I gave myself two more strokes of love before releasing the toy from my grasp. I held on to my breasts, withstanding the convulsions pulsating from my core, and gushed past the towel. The first one surrendered me, the second one turned my legs into jelly. The sex juices kept coming and so did I. "Ahmmnng, fucckk!" I moaned, closing my eyes to see nothing but fireworks under my eyelids.

The bed was a glorious mess. I hated doing the laundry, but I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I reached for the slippery toy, and held it in my equally warm palm. I had a tendency to fall in love with objects, especially those that brought me comfort, and this one reveled at the top. Five stars. You can sleep in my nightstand.