RP: Flying Solo
Date: 4 October 2005
Character(s): Orla Quirke
Location: River & 6
Status: Private
Summary: Orla finally works up the courage to test her 'gift'.
Completion: Complete
She'd put it off long enough. When she had first gotten the vibrator from George, she'd been too embarrassed to look at it. But she'd been unable not to. She had never used one before, and had read the instructions with fascination. It sounded so…clinical. Every bump, every ridge, all for maximum pleasure. Well, first she had to see if she responded to pleasure at all.
She ran a bath for herself, using her favorite honeysuckle scented bath bubbles, and sank down into it. Tentatively, she used her bubble covered fingers, running them across her breasts. They weren't terribly big, but she'd never figured larger breasts would suit her build, and her figure. They weren't particularly sensitive, though she could coax her nipples erect if she tried. She wondered if sex with Miles would have been better if they were. He certainly had loved to play with them, even when he was inside her.
She ran her hands down her stomach, feeling the soft give there. She'd tried to work out some during uni, get rid of her baby fat, but it seemed her efforts meant nothing, and all her walking around Stoatshead didn't do anything either. Her hands made their way down to her thighs, strong, if somewhat short, to the curls between her legs. She gently traced the folds between her legs, feeling the smoothness in the water. She knew the different portions of her anatomy, knew how it was all supposed to work, just never seemed to get things to work together. She could feel hot and flushed, tingly in her parts, but it never seemed to happen when she was kissing Miles, or having sex with Miles. She had felt something when Ritchie had been holding her after the ants, but it hadn't registered over the shock of pain. Come to think of it, maybe…
She lifted her left hand and reached up to pinch her nipple sharply. Ok, maybe that wasn't the kind of pain she was looking for. She winced, and then rubbed at the abused flesh. She hadn't wanted to rule out the possibility that, despite her conservatism and demeanor, she might be interested in something kinky. Still might, just not….self-inflicted.
She exhaled, sinking lower to lift one of her legs, and eased a finger inside herself. It had always felt strange, the incredibly slick inside compared to the lightly furred outside. She could feel the difference her own lubrication made, and closed her eyes, trying to pull an image to help with this.
George stood behind the counter at the apothecary, watching her approach. She had a coat on over top the dress from the party, was biting her lip.
"I, er, wanted to thank you for your gift." She finally said, after they stared at each other for a few minutes. "In person."
"My pleasure." He smiled, eyes crinkling. "Did you enjoy it?"
She opened her eyes and frowned. This train of thought was too close to reality to be really all that arousing. She closed her eyes and tried again.
"George, please, I'm begging you….take me to bed." Orla approached George, running her hands over his chest. He clasped them both in one hand, and bent down to kiss her, running his other hand down her back, and then up under her skirt….
That wasn't working either. She frowned, then she changed the mental image.
"Orla please, I need you so badly." George groaned, staring at her with blatant hunger in his eyes. She stepped forward, and he rushed around the counter, pulling her up in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck, and they stared longingly at each other…
This really wasn't working. She felt like she was working on a smut novel, and with little success. She sighed, and then just let her mind wander, as her fingers stilled their attempts between her legs to bring a measure of pleasure to the proceedings.
She slammed the door open, raging into the shop. She was wearing the nightgown she'd been in when she got the package, which was tightly clenched in her fist. "How dare you send me something so...personal!" She blustered at him. She marched over to him and gave him a solid slap to the face. As he brought his head back around, she was startled by the dark glint in his eyes. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the circle of his arms, pulling her back against him.
He growled in her ear, "You asked for it. Practically begged. Wanted me to touch you, to fuck you raw. You know you want it." He nipped her ear and she felt a flash of heat run through her. The arm at her waist tightened, and his free hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back roughly. She winced, and he began sucking at her throat, at the sensitive spot that seemed connected to her nipples.
"No, I didn't ask...please…" She moaned out loud, feeling her own wetness in the water. Her fingers were moving now, chasing the sensation her fantasy was inducing in her.
"Please what? Please bend you over the counter and fuck you?" She gasped at the crude language, and he released her hair, sliding a hand down to squeeze one of her breasts roughly, before tugging at the neckline of her nightdress, and reaching inside. She tried to pull away and he pivoted, matching words to action and pushing her against the counter, which hit her in the softness of her belly. Freeing his other hand, he tugged her hem up. She tried to push back, but he put a hand in between her shoulders and pushed her face down into the wood. The hand that had been fondling her breasts let go, and came back to smack sharply on her bare bottom.
She yelped, and he leaned over her, the heat of him surrounding her as he tugged at his pants, moving to free himself. He was muttering dirty things to her, growling that he'd fuck her until she couldn't walk, make her service him, spank her when she got out of line. He'd show her a real man, make her love it…
Orla snapped her eyes open, sitting upright in the tub. Breathing deeply, she hung her head, wet ends of her hair swinging forward. She couldn't do this. Not with George's face. She felt a tendril of shame unfurl. He wasn't like that. He was a gentle man, full of mischief and joy, and here she was using him as a template for a darker rougher personality. What was wrong with her, that not only could she not successfully masturbate like a normal woman, but she seemed to get off on the idea of being forced? Logically she knew there was nothing wrong with bondage, or with forced submission fantasies, but she couldn't help but feel like she'd missed a step. How did someone go from trying to just enjoy sex, to wanting to be held down, forced to liking it?
She stood, dripping water, stepped out of the tub, and grabbed her robe. As she entered her bedroom, her eye was unerringly drawn to the purple vibrator she'd left on the end table. She stopped, shoulders slumped, feeling tears prickle. She really was broken, that she couldn't just be normal in this. Any time she had masturbated before it was merely for relaxation purposes, to release tension. It had been pleasant enough, but not the bloody big deal folks made it out to be. She just wanted to know what a proper orgasm felt like. Was that too much to ask?
She threw herself on the bed, uncaring of the wet spots her hair and robe was making. She closed her eyes, and saw what the reality would be if she really truly asked George what she'd started to that day.
"Orla, I'm flattered that you think that highly of me, but I don't want to ruin our friendship."
Right. Which translated into, "You're just not attractive enough for me to bother with."
If he wasn't interested, and that's why he sent the vibrator, she was at least going to attempt to make good on the promises the packaging made before sending it back with a note thanking him for not leading her on any more than necessary. She owed him that much, since he'd gone to the effort to give her something that he hoped could do what he wouldn't.
She undid her robe, and moved to her back, spreading her legs and bending her knees. It was the most comfortable position Miles had ever wanted to have sex in, even if it seemed unimaginative. Lifting the purple vibrator from the nightstand, she held it between her legs, rubbing the bulbous tip around to gather the lingering lubrication her rape fantasy had produced. She began to ease it inside her, feeling the burn of stretching that she hadn't felt in over a year. She lifted her hips a bit, and the feeling eased. She worked enough up inside her that the rabbit ears were resting right next to the only sensitive bit of flesh she seemed to have.
She reached further down and flipped the switch set to make the little bumps along the shaft move, and waited, wondering if it would stimulate. It felt....alright. Not spectacular, or anywhere near mindblowing. Raising the level didn't seem to help, sadly, so she turned that setting off. Flipping the other switch, she set the entire thing to vibrate. That felt nice, but still, about as nice as any other masturbatory moment she had had. She lowered her legs to lay nearly flat on the bed, and almost jumped as one of the bumps vibrated against the spot inside of her that made her heart race. She tried moving the vibrator in and out, but she couldn't quite simulate the pace that she remembered from Miles, and she couldn't bring herself to try thinking about her fantasy again.
She wondered if part of the problem with her and sex is that she never was fully ready for it. He'd not hurt her, but he didn't spend nearly enough time turning her on. She had really enjoyed kissing him, but it was a means to an end for him, as was the rest of foreplay. Frankly, he had been a bit more interested in reaching the end than the journey. His recovery time took longer than sex, usually, even when he managed multiple shags in a night. She'd just learned to reassure him that she was satisfied, because her own insecurities were more than enough for her to handle. She didn't think she could shoulder his.
Thinking about Miles, unfortunately, killed whatever beginnings of arousal she was starting to feel, and with a sigh, she removed the vibrator. She just wasn't cut out for solo pleasure. She remembered their wedding, when he'd gotten a glass of champagne in her and convinced her to go down on him in the restroom. She'd felt powerful, giddy with the strongest aphrodisiac she'd ever known. At that time, her doubts, nagging even then, had receded, and she had thought things would work out between them. It had worn off by the time he'd recovered enough to pin her to the wall, rumpling her dress.
She debated owling the gift back to George, but felt she owed him the courtesy of a thank you in person. Even if it hadn't really worked out. She supposed she hadn't really expected it to. All her research and studies into human sexuality showed that the brain was the strongest sexual organ, and she just couldn't fake intimacy with a figment of her imagination, even if the person it was based on was real enough. Despite her prior attempts to proposition him, she just didn't think she had it in her to try again. She had some pride, even if very little of it was tied to her sexuality. She didn't know if she'd ever be to try dating again if it was shattered like she anticipated would happen if she tried again with George.
Character(s): Orla Quirke
Location: River & 6
Status: Private
Summary: Orla finally works up the courage to test her 'gift'.
Completion: Complete
She'd put it off long enough. When she had first gotten the vibrator from George, she'd been too embarrassed to look at it. But she'd been unable not to. She had never used one before, and had read the instructions with fascination. It sounded so…clinical. Every bump, every ridge, all for maximum pleasure. Well, first she had to see if she responded to pleasure at all.
She ran a bath for herself, using her favorite honeysuckle scented bath bubbles, and sank down into it. Tentatively, she used her bubble covered fingers, running them across her breasts. They weren't terribly big, but she'd never figured larger breasts would suit her build, and her figure. They weren't particularly sensitive, though she could coax her nipples erect if she tried. She wondered if sex with Miles would have been better if they were. He certainly had loved to play with them, even when he was inside her.
She ran her hands down her stomach, feeling the soft give there. She'd tried to work out some during uni, get rid of her baby fat, but it seemed her efforts meant nothing, and all her walking around Stoatshead didn't do anything either. Her hands made their way down to her thighs, strong, if somewhat short, to the curls between her legs. She gently traced the folds between her legs, feeling the smoothness in the water. She knew the different portions of her anatomy, knew how it was all supposed to work, just never seemed to get things to work together. She could feel hot and flushed, tingly in her parts, but it never seemed to happen when she was kissing Miles, or having sex with Miles. She had felt something when Ritchie had been holding her after the ants, but it hadn't registered over the shock of pain. Come to think of it, maybe…
She lifted her left hand and reached up to pinch her nipple sharply. Ok, maybe that wasn't the kind of pain she was looking for. She winced, and then rubbed at the abused flesh. She hadn't wanted to rule out the possibility that, despite her conservatism and demeanor, she might be interested in something kinky. Still might, just not….self-inflicted.
She exhaled, sinking lower to lift one of her legs, and eased a finger inside herself. It had always felt strange, the incredibly slick inside compared to the lightly furred outside. She could feel the difference her own lubrication made, and closed her eyes, trying to pull an image to help with this.
George stood behind the counter at the apothecary, watching her approach. She had a coat on over top the dress from the party, was biting her lip.
"I, er, wanted to thank you for your gift." She finally said, after they stared at each other for a few minutes. "In person."
"My pleasure." He smiled, eyes crinkling. "Did you enjoy it?"
She opened her eyes and frowned. This train of thought was too close to reality to be really all that arousing. She closed her eyes and tried again.
"George, please, I'm begging you….take me to bed." Orla approached George, running her hands over his chest. He clasped them both in one hand, and bent down to kiss her, running his other hand down her back, and then up under her skirt….
That wasn't working either. She frowned, then she changed the mental image.
"Orla please, I need you so badly." George groaned, staring at her with blatant hunger in his eyes. She stepped forward, and he rushed around the counter, pulling her up in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck, and they stared longingly at each other…
This really wasn't working. She felt like she was working on a smut novel, and with little success. She sighed, and then just let her mind wander, as her fingers stilled their attempts between her legs to bring a measure of pleasure to the proceedings.
She slammed the door open, raging into the shop. She was wearing the nightgown she'd been in when she got the package, which was tightly clenched in her fist. "How dare you send me something so...personal!" She blustered at him. She marched over to him and gave him a solid slap to the face. As he brought his head back around, she was startled by the dark glint in his eyes. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the circle of his arms, pulling her back against him.
He growled in her ear, "You asked for it. Practically begged. Wanted me to touch you, to fuck you raw. You know you want it." He nipped her ear and she felt a flash of heat run through her. The arm at her waist tightened, and his free hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back roughly. She winced, and he began sucking at her throat, at the sensitive spot that seemed connected to her nipples.
"No, I didn't ask...please…" She moaned out loud, feeling her own wetness in the water. Her fingers were moving now, chasing the sensation her fantasy was inducing in her.
"Please what? Please bend you over the counter and fuck you?" She gasped at the crude language, and he released her hair, sliding a hand down to squeeze one of her breasts roughly, before tugging at the neckline of her nightdress, and reaching inside. She tried to pull away and he pivoted, matching words to action and pushing her against the counter, which hit her in the softness of her belly. Freeing his other hand, he tugged her hem up. She tried to push back, but he put a hand in between her shoulders and pushed her face down into the wood. The hand that had been fondling her breasts let go, and came back to smack sharply on her bare bottom.
She yelped, and he leaned over her, the heat of him surrounding her as he tugged at his pants, moving to free himself. He was muttering dirty things to her, growling that he'd fuck her until she couldn't walk, make her service him, spank her when she got out of line. He'd show her a real man, make her love it…
Orla snapped her eyes open, sitting upright in the tub. Breathing deeply, she hung her head, wet ends of her hair swinging forward. She couldn't do this. Not with George's face. She felt a tendril of shame unfurl. He wasn't like that. He was a gentle man, full of mischief and joy, and here she was using him as a template for a darker rougher personality. What was wrong with her, that not only could she not successfully masturbate like a normal woman, but she seemed to get off on the idea of being forced? Logically she knew there was nothing wrong with bondage, or with forced submission fantasies, but she couldn't help but feel like she'd missed a step. How did someone go from trying to just enjoy sex, to wanting to be held down, forced to liking it?
She stood, dripping water, stepped out of the tub, and grabbed her robe. As she entered her bedroom, her eye was unerringly drawn to the purple vibrator she'd left on the end table. She stopped, shoulders slumped, feeling tears prickle. She really was broken, that she couldn't just be normal in this. Any time she had masturbated before it was merely for relaxation purposes, to release tension. It had been pleasant enough, but not the bloody big deal folks made it out to be. She just wanted to know what a proper orgasm felt like. Was that too much to ask?
She threw herself on the bed, uncaring of the wet spots her hair and robe was making. She closed her eyes, and saw what the reality would be if she really truly asked George what she'd started to that day.
"Orla, I'm flattered that you think that highly of me, but I don't want to ruin our friendship."
Right. Which translated into, "You're just not attractive enough for me to bother with."
If he wasn't interested, and that's why he sent the vibrator, she was at least going to attempt to make good on the promises the packaging made before sending it back with a note thanking him for not leading her on any more than necessary. She owed him that much, since he'd gone to the effort to give her something that he hoped could do what he wouldn't.
She undid her robe, and moved to her back, spreading her legs and bending her knees. It was the most comfortable position Miles had ever wanted to have sex in, even if it seemed unimaginative. Lifting the purple vibrator from the nightstand, she held it between her legs, rubbing the bulbous tip around to gather the lingering lubrication her rape fantasy had produced. She began to ease it inside her, feeling the burn of stretching that she hadn't felt in over a year. She lifted her hips a bit, and the feeling eased. She worked enough up inside her that the rabbit ears were resting right next to the only sensitive bit of flesh she seemed to have.
She reached further down and flipped the switch set to make the little bumps along the shaft move, and waited, wondering if it would stimulate. It felt....alright. Not spectacular, or anywhere near mindblowing. Raising the level didn't seem to help, sadly, so she turned that setting off. Flipping the other switch, she set the entire thing to vibrate. That felt nice, but still, about as nice as any other masturbatory moment she had had. She lowered her legs to lay nearly flat on the bed, and almost jumped as one of the bumps vibrated against the spot inside of her that made her heart race. She tried moving the vibrator in and out, but she couldn't quite simulate the pace that she remembered from Miles, and she couldn't bring herself to try thinking about her fantasy again.
She wondered if part of the problem with her and sex is that she never was fully ready for it. He'd not hurt her, but he didn't spend nearly enough time turning her on. She had really enjoyed kissing him, but it was a means to an end for him, as was the rest of foreplay. Frankly, he had been a bit more interested in reaching the end than the journey. His recovery time took longer than sex, usually, even when he managed multiple shags in a night. She'd just learned to reassure him that she was satisfied, because her own insecurities were more than enough for her to handle. She didn't think she could shoulder his.
Thinking about Miles, unfortunately, killed whatever beginnings of arousal she was starting to feel, and with a sigh, she removed the vibrator. She just wasn't cut out for solo pleasure. She remembered their wedding, when he'd gotten a glass of champagne in her and convinced her to go down on him in the restroom. She'd felt powerful, giddy with the strongest aphrodisiac she'd ever known. At that time, her doubts, nagging even then, had receded, and she had thought things would work out between them. It had worn off by the time he'd recovered enough to pin her to the wall, rumpling her dress.
She debated owling the gift back to George, but felt she owed him the courtesy of a thank you in person. Even if it hadn't really worked out. She supposed she hadn't really expected it to. All her research and studies into human sexuality showed that the brain was the strongest sexual organ, and she just couldn't fake intimacy with a figment of her imagination, even if the person it was based on was real enough. Despite her prior attempts to proposition him, she just didn't think she had it in her to try again. She had some pride, even if very little of it was tied to her sexuality. She didn't know if she'd ever be to try dating again if it was shattered like she anticipated would happen if she tried again with George.