i have been blessed with a house guest for an uncertain amount of time. it’s that time of year again. having to wear clothes, having to use MY bathroom, having to wear clothes and being a good host. did i mention wearing clothes?

all week, are these back of the mind thoughts of no Him for 3 full weeks. i try not to think about it for fear i will panic with the lack of sex i will sustain during his absence. instead i am trying to work and with that i have these small non productive moments of looking at my photo feeds. my photo feeds are generally on the racy side and yes it puts me in a raging mood. i have to fight off the impending need to rub one out.

tonight the boys were going to be gone for a long enough period of time to leave me to my vices. what do i do instead of porn and masturbation? i do fucking work. i do fucking work till past 10pm and what do i do after that? well, i then do admin crap for work. sometimes, i wonder what is wrong with me and think that i should be stripped of my deviant title. i am sad to admit that working from home makes me more focused on work and it tends to lead to longer work hours. i used to be so good and keeping my productivity to a minimum. i was proud of slacking off when i could. now i am a good worker bee? someone take my temperature, maybe i am not fully over my last bout of sickness.

i have grown from a phase of chronic masturbation to being deprived. perhaps it’s an excuse for the lack of masturbation. i know i like bottling up the energy and need, then unleashing at once. i do prefer unleashing it with Him but that can’t always be the case. the orgasms have always been explosive but my current reasoning is to make them lasting. i savor them more, instead of trying to do a count up past 10. as they say, it’s quality over quantity. it feels like a drug hit more than anything right now. i lay there biting and licking my lips as if i pumped that instant joy into my veins.

also, i have to admit i miss phone sex. i miss that “someone” else being there and sharing my orgasms. Sylvanus made a good point about sharing an orgasm or masturbation with another. he is right, i like someone else witnessing me achieving my “closest to God” moment.

so as it seems, Gracie is changing, morphing but into what? i have no idea. am i going to the light side? absolutely not. i still have very deep seeded thoughts that come to the foreground when triggered. i think i am trying to itch a scratch and it doesn’t always seemed to be fully itched. the problem with me, i always want more. i need a stable of men and maybe then my itch will be scratched. i fear what will happen when i venture into my 40′s, will it be worse? i still have several years and perhaps some planning to keep me from acting like a cat in heat.

i do enjoy leaving my mark when having sex but what about the unconscious marking?

i speak of unconscious because i was not even aware that i was marking him in such a way. recently, i have tried my best not to mark him up in a way that would mean long sleeves or turtlenecks in summer. yet, all i recall from last night’s exploits was the tip of his cock teasing my wet heat and me inching towards it, needing it, not wanting it…needing it. my panting and whining surfacing and perhaps i was gripping his left arm a little too tightly. slowly he pushes in, my eyes roll, my body erupts immediately, my dam breaks and i gush.

slow to animalistic in mere seconds, i went from a civil woman to a primitive version of myself, clenching my teeth and pawing at him as if i were sliding down a cliff side. all his weight pushing himself in and out of me. all i want is to feel every bit of him inside of me.

that is the goal.

that is the focus.

that is life or death for that moment.

i had to bite and i had to bite down hard. my teeth connect to his pillow, grip shut and for a split moment i realized how thankful i was that it was his pillow and not his arm. i had lost my sense of control. he pushed, i pushed against him and his cumming made me come again as my legs wrapped around him clinging for that moment to never end.

my legs quivered, the wetness coated my inner thighs, i couldn’t move and willing myself too was a chore. we laid there in an eternity of silence, i listened to him breathe and my panting slowly subsided.

in the shadows of the darkness i could see little marks on his inner bicep and he knew it was much worse. it was later on as i was getting ready to leave that he showed me his arm and my mouth dropped open. up and down his whole inner arm were little nail marks some worse than others. he looked as if he were attached by some wild animal and the truth is, he was.

“i swear i don’t remember doing that!”

he gave me a look of disbelief.

“i swear it! i don’t remember!”

i apologized profusely since it was not intentional on my part. looking back, i am rather astonished that i could not recall marking him in such a way. i explained to him how lucky he was i didn’t bite a chunk of his flesh and settled with the scratch marks on his arm.

is there a moral to the story? no. i wouldn’t have changed a thing about it, all though i am sure he would beg to differ.

i know understand the true addiction of a drug addict, it’s not because i tried drugs and became addicted. it was the addiction to an orgasm.

i was once told by E that a heroin high was like having an orgasm times hundred. i had always daydreamed how one of my orgasms could be hundred times greater and in thinking about it, no wonder a heroin addict never wanted to come down.

i feel like a junkie sometimes. laying there panting and relishing the moment, licking my lips and quivering. that feeling is out of body, slowly you come back into yourself and that few seconds of ecstasy is over. that’s when you ache for another one and you want it as good as the last one. when i try too hard it doesn’t happen. i have to learn patience to let my body prepare for another round of intensity, especially when i am masturbating. when i am with someone else i am “on” and the orgasms flow like a faucet, sometimes there is no beginning and end, they meld together like running ink.

tonight i laid in the dark, watched one candle burn it’s dance against the walls. i had been watching porn and let the need build up in my panties. i shoved my favorite vibrator down and nestled it against my wet clit. i closed my eyes and thought. i thought about the last time i was fucked and how i milked his cum, as he fucked me from behind. the vivid thoughts of a hand wrapping around my throat, cutting off the air flow and causing the pressure to swell between my legs. my body tensed up and my left hand gripped the headboard and my throat interrupted the silence of the room. the heat and wet between my legs was intense, finger tips traced my lips and moved the wetness up the vibrator. it only lasts for a few seconds and the aftershock subside. the buzzing of the vibrator comes back into focus and i turn it down due to the sensitivity of my clit. as each orgasm would hit sometimes i yelped, sometimes grunted and sometimes i cried out.

laying there reveling in my post orgasmic euphoria made me realize my addiction. i am an addict and it’s not because i am emotionally empty seeking some kind of minuscule sense of fulfillment. i am not covering up some painful memory or existence, i can honestly say i am happy. i am addicted to that high and feeling of intensity. i feel a rainbow of emotions everyday but coming is the highest form of happiness and what is wrong with wanting to feel that?

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