For His Eyes

It's a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. I feel my need, desire, and loneliness pulling my thoughts away from my to-do list and back into the bedroom. I don't have time for this, the windows are open, what if someone hears? Honestly, though...I don't mind if they do. There is nothing wrong with a little self-pleasure. I don't want to just run through the motions and I decide to slip into a little lacy, green one-piece, surprised how it melts like butter, conforming to my body. With a chagrinned smile, I realize the cup size on my lingerie is much too small for my new breasts. A good problem to have, I muse. I turn the camera on, moving in front of its eye, I'm far too critical of my body but seeing the dark green lace caressing my body, I'm a little tickled to enjoy myself. Feeling confident, I decided to take things a step further and bring out my dildo. I rarely play with him...he just brings the intense longings for a partner to the surface. I struggle to fully leave my body and immerse into the blissful release of an orgasm. But not today. Deep breath...this is about me enjoying myself.

In the intricate tapestry of love, distances can sometimes magnify emotions, turning a mere hour between homes into an eternity of longing. Jack's meticulous preparations, brimming with the anticipation of my return, paint a fairytale-like picture of devotion and craving. His impassioned kisses spoke volumes, conveying sentiments that words could not fully capture. In his blind passion, he threw me to the couch, not waiting to remove my sundress or heels before ravaging me. It was not until later that I noticed the camera, a subtle yet poignant reminder of the depths of his love and the delightful naughtiness of his heart, adding an unexpected and enchanting layer to our story.

Time to celebrate self-love this special Masturbation May!

Jack had to take a phone call, so I grabbed my laptop and worked from the bedroom. Was this a good idea? It depends on your perspective.

Just a little witchy fun this afternoon.

I’m in the kitchen, dinner nearly done - burgers finishing, green beans softly steaming - while a scandalously good book murmurs in my ear. And somewhere between the heat of the stove and the heat of the story… I’ve found myself a little undone. I just need a moment. Just a moment to slip away and tend to the indecent throb between my thighs, to ease the distraction splitting my thoughts. Will it be possible to return to the kitchen looking composed and appropriately resigned for the evening?

There’s something about a rainy day that makes everything feel closer… softer… thick with temptation. I gave in to the mood, letting myself drift into a moment of quiet, delicious indulgence.

A little fun that began on the couch caused us to quickly forget about the camera and transition to the bedroom. I was going to trim the off-camera scene but the sounds emanating from the other room...good heavens! Steamy!

It’s been one of those days… the kind that lingers all the way to my marrow. So here I am...bath drawn, water warm and waiting, my vibrator waiting... and what to do with this rose? I find myself wanting to be… attended to. Indulged, just a little. It feels almost decadent. Almost like something meant to be shared. I can’t help but wonder how it might feel to have someone here… someone attentive in that unspoken way, a touch dangerous with their tenderness… the kind who takes their time, who notices the small things without being told. But… I suppose I’ll have to make do with my own company tonight. Which, if I’m being honest, isn’t the worst consolation. I can be quite persuasive when I want to be… and I do know exactly how I like to be treated. Still... It’s a shame, really. 🌹

It's Saturday night, and if I'm honest, my heart is a little heavy. I've tried all the things—worked out, stayed busy, checked off the boxes of self-care—but some nights sadness lingers anyway. So tonight, I'm choosing not to run from it. I'm choosing to sit quietly with myself, offer myself a little grace, and practice the often difficult art of self-love. Healing isn't always beautiful. Sometimes it looks like a woman alone on a Saturday night, loving herself enough to stay.