My after-work routine [F][Mast][Drunk][Desperate]

My mind can be obsessive. There are a few things I can’t stop it from going into overdrive. One of them is sex. I started masturbating early, I guess when I was 12, and since then I’ve spent a pretty huge part of my life doing that, fantasizing about almost everything there is to fantasize about, which is probably why my mind struggles to stop itself when the thought pops in. Don’t get me wrong I have plenty of sex, at least 1-2 times a week, but I’ll still masturbate upwards of 4 times a day. Anyway, back to the point. Because of how my mind reacts at any thought of sex, I have a hard time avoiding it. You’d be surprised how many seemingly monotonous things happen daily that start my neurons firing on all pistons: seeing myself naked in the bathroom mirror, running my soapy fingers or rough sponge over my labia in the shower, the soft fabric of my underwear, zipper, or buttons as I get dressed (or even just sit around), the saddle of my bike between my thighs, the rumble of public transport…As you can probably imagine by now, by the time work is over I’m almost having an anxiety attack about getting back home as fast as possible and treating my body to blissful orgasm. Truth be told, there are days, many days, where I just can’t wait to get home. For those days, I’ve by now found a pretty good repertoire of places I can get to quickly for some much-needed relief (bathrooms, parks, parking lots, restaurants…). Most of the time though, I wait until I get home, because I know that if I can push myself to wait, the anticipation both physical and mental, usually adds up to some pretty incredible orgasms. So, because of that, I’ve kind of developed a bit of a routine.

I suppose the first part is pretty uninteresting, but, because of my urgency, it all starts the moment the clock hits 5pm, and I’ve practiced it to perfection. Laptop closes, slides into my backpack, backpack zips closed and gets flung over my shoulder. One hand on the door handle and the other on the light switch and I’m gone by 5:00:30. By the time I’ve gotten through the hallway, stairwells, and out the door of the building, I’ve put on my headphones and selected something raunchy from r/gonewildaudio.

My journey home consists of a 5-minute walk to the bus stop, a 10-minute bus ride, a 25-minute train ride, and then another 5ish minutes on the tram, before a short 200-meter spurt to my apartment building, and up 3 flights of stairs to my front door. In this hour(ish), my giddy horniness which began when I got out of the sheets in the morning, becomes a raging, anxiety-inducing craving for convulsive orgasm. Along with the sultry voices coming (pun intended) through my headphones, my mind busies itself with lewd images and memories from all my years pleasuring myself or being pleasured. It’s like a cut-scene in a movie when someone’s life flashes before their eyes, except that the things flashing before my eyes are all the dirty photos, favorite porn flicks, sexual experiences, new and old fantasies. Nothing else around me exists. When I get off the tram and am covering those last minutes to my front door, I’m basically power-walking, desperate, excited, drenched. I can feel the soaked fabric of my panties tugging at my labia, and if I’ve squirmed enough in my seat, they’ve dug between those moist lips and are now rubbing my clit. Many a time I’ve missed a step at this point, stumbled, and picked myself up, panicking at the precious time I’ve lost before I can touch myself. A few times, I’ve been so desperate I’ve started crying. Halfway up the stairs my keys are out, and it takes me less than 5 seconds to unlock, step inside, and lock back up behind me.

The hardwood floor catches my backpack and jacket if I’m wearing one. I rush into the living room and over to the liquor cabinet. I pour myself just under an inch worth of bourbon in a tumbler and I down it. I sit back against the table, leaning back with both hands, and as I feel the warmth of the booze radiate from my throat and, I literally grab myself by the pussy and squeeze hard. I don’t hold back my moan. I moved into a modern flat on purpose. I don’t want to have to suppress anything. I let the wave of fuzziness wash over me, my hand firmly cupping my crotch, often feeling my wetness begin to soak through whatever garment I’m wearing. Along with the guttural vibrations of my moan and the warmth of the Makers Mark, goosebumps ripple over my body. I pour myself another glass, take a small sip, and head to the bedroom.

I set my glass down on the table. I turn to my full-length mirror, and tear off my clothes, starting at the top, bottoms last. I’ll take a minute to see how wet I got then run a finger between my labia. A shock makes me groan each time I reach my clit. I taste myself and take another gulp of my bourbon. I throw on some thigh-high socks, my baggy sweatpants and a loose t-shirt and open up my toys drawer to pick out which lucky piece of kit gets to pound me silly this particular evening. I take my toy to the living room with me, pull the blinds, get rid of the sweatpants, finish my second glass, pour myself a third, and flop on the couch, legs spread, feet in the air, knees by my head.

The fingers of one hand begin to explore my depths while my other hand grabs my phone and I cast whatever video I’ve picked on the way home to the TV. Once that’s done, that hand guides my glass to my mouth to down the third glass. I’m buzzing by now, my body glowing with warmth, my mind lost in the eroticism of the sounds and images on the television and my hands are unconsciously exploring every inch of my body, inside and out. My drooling mouth will soak my toy (as if I wasn’t wet enough!) and in one smooth, well-lubricated move, my toy disappears inside me.

My eyes close. My mind goes blank. My toy-guiding hand moves as fast as it can. Within seconds, I feel the familiar tension build up. I hold my breath. My muscles stiffen up. My abs tighten, and I feel my leaking cunt begin to grip my toy. The same way the alcohol did when I walk in the house, I feel it all start in my gut. It spreads out slowly like pins and needles to all my extremities. I explode. I groan uncontrollably and pull my legs close into my chest. I’m convulsing, my sex pulsing, juices dripping onto the couch and floor below it. I struggle to catch my breath as waves of pleasure wash over me every few seconds. I roll onto my side as my body continues to twitch and I continue to groan, feeling some drool escape my mouth, and more often than not a tear or two leaving my eyes.

Slowly my muscles relax. My breathing normalizes. I reach my fingers between my legs and scoop up whatever juices and grool are still dribbling out of me. I bring them to my mouth and savor them to the last drop. Endorphins still rushing through my body. I feel light-headed. I huge mischievous grin stretches across my face. I’m happy. So happy. But I’m nowhere near finished for the night. I pour myself another glass, and head to the kitchen for some dinner.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/a4wgg6/my_afterwork_routine_fmastdrunkdesperate