A crystal glass filled with whiskey is my favourite way to drink. There is something about the burn, all the way down into your stomach, that just makes me feel… well, kind of empowered. Match that with my best silk dressing gown – and nothing underneath – that makes an evening in the house alone that touch more interesting.
This year on the single train has been a year of discovery. Of what I like and how I like it. I’ve gotten to know myself and all my little kinks. And whilst I may not have someone holding me down, tugging on my hair and telling me just how wet I am and how much they’re going to enjoy fucking me, it doesn’t mean that I haven’t enjoyed myself.
It doesn’t mean that my nipples aren’t hard or that I’m not licking a finger and playing with them through the silk. Which feels amazing, so sensitive, so tender.
And being alone, drinking my whiskey, doesn’t mean that I can’t slip a hand down my body, trailing over my ribs, and beyond. It doesn’t mean that I am any less wet. In fact, I’m soaking. My fingers glide over my clit with ease.
Being alone means that I can roll onto my front and rub myself just the way I like it, back and forth. Slowly, circling my slippy, wet clit and then faster, right on the spot where it just feels good. You know exactly where I mean.
Well, it’s enough to get a girl there. Personally though, I like to slip a finger – or two – around the back way and into the velvety heat of my cunt. From then on, it gets a little desperate. I just have to come, I need to.
And there it is. That relief that drags a gasp out of my whiskey lined lips, a deep moan into the ground. My body twitches, spasming in gratitude, in pleasure. It’s nice to lay there for a few seconds, and then slowly pull my wet fingers out of my cunt and stick them in my mouth.
There truly is no better mix than whiskey and wet.