She glanced at the corner of her screen every 3 minutes for the last hour. The day had dragged on; an endless parade of terrible carnation littered floral deliveries and a constant flow of heart shaped chocolate boxes danced around the office all day. By 5:30, only a sad pair of dark chocolate orange cream remained, yet they still got passed around a few more times. As her coworkers shuffled into the women’s restroom to primp and prep for their evenings, she checked her email one last time and slipped out of the office. She had plans of her own.

When she arrived at the hotel, she gave her name and the key card to the honeymoon suite were handed over. The bag she dropped off in the morning (to avoid questions from her coworkers) was waiting for her on the luggage stand as she entered the sprawling suite. The room was spectacular and for a brief moment she wished she could comment to someone else about the art nouveau touches on the room. She opened her bag, unpacked the silk robe and small bag.

It was something she did in the years where she was unattached. Decadent? Abso-fucking-lutely, but just because she was single on Valentine’s Day didn’t mean she couldn’t feel spoiled. She left her work clothes in pile on the floor and slipped on the robe. She made her way to the window, admiring the view of the city that cost her hundreds of dollars extra.

“Fuck. So worth it,” she said under her breath from 43 floors above. And she drew the curtains back further letting the room fill just a bit more with the city light. She put her phone in the dock and put on Anita O’Day, her favorite when it came to relishing in her own little world. She grabbed the small bag, turned off the lamp and made her way back to chaise lounge by the window. She clicked on the vibrator from the bag and started slowly circling her nipples letting the gentle buzz of the low setting wash a sense of release over her.

She was no stranger to self satisfaction. In fact, in some way she preferred the well versed approach of her own hands to that of a partner. But she never took to the time to properly seduce herself. Tonight she would take her time. Enjoy every possible inch of her own body. She wouldn’t simply come; she would pleasure herself. She used her other hand to play with her nipple and slowly massage with left breast. She had only ever really done this with a partner and even then, she would now admit, it was sort of just something she did for show. She was enjoying it more and more and as she laid back on the chaise, she began to traced a line down her body.

“Honeysuckle Rose” began to play and seemed to dance through the almost comically large hotel suite. She gently grazed the vibrator over her full and soft labia pushing the setting to a stronger vibration pattern. She found herself picking up the pace of her gentle sweeping as she aligned with the bridge of the song. She knew the song in the same sense she knew her own points of pleasure- with a deep sense of familiarity but perhaps with a deepness that blocked her from appreciating how complex and special they actually were.

She brought herself up to her knees and bent over the round tufted arm of the chaise. She spread her legs and straddled the vibrator as she propped it up with a toss pillow. She slowly lowered herself down and let the vibrations, now on full speed. She began to lift and sink her round hips over the toy, allowing herself moments of strong, deep stimulation on her clit and then a brief second to catch her breath. She did this again and again until she seemed to surrender her own dictated sense of rhythm for a pace more genuine and organic. She rocked against the arm of the chaise, using it to thrust harder and faster. She let out a few syrupy moans and then drew more and more from her own sounds. In the dark of the suite over the trance of “Tenderly”, she threw her head back, “that’s so good.”

Hearing her own voice affirm her pleasure felt unusual but it felt comforting. In her concentrated haze of pleasure she felt herself crack a smile at the idea of audibly guiding herself to an orgasm.

She continued, “keep going…”

“Oh, that’s it.”

“I’m going to come.” She said and she opened her eyes, fixating on her pleasure.

“Harder,” she coached.

And just as she reached her absolute peak of pleasure, she dug her nails into her sturdy thighs, unleashed a roar that could be heard from anywhere in the hotel and then collapsed over the arm of the chaise. After a deep exhale and a cat like stretch- she lifted herself back up.

She draped her silk robe around her; left it untied and went to the bureau where a bottle of champagne was awaiting its own moment of crescendo. She poured herself a generous glass and picked up the cheesy red box of chocolates beside it.

“Be Mine” it read in an elaborate script typeface. She drew her thumb over the first word, covered it and smirked. Looking out over the city, exposing her bare body to the city below and she felt a sense of completeness.

“Mine,” she said. Her city, her pleasure. All hers.

Agatha Purchase is a sometimes writer and all of the time procrastinator.  She has no social media accounts in which you may follow her which means she is either really bad at social media or incredibly good at it.  Send a telegram for selfies and topless pics.


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