Confession: I Masturbated with Her Toys

I'm going to tell it the way it happened, because for months I pretended to be a proper, quiet, useful, almost invisible woman, when the truth was that I was burning inside. I worked in the home of a well-off couple, cleaning, tidying the rooms, and I earned their trust so completely that they left me alone for much of the afternoon. I smiled, lowered my eyes, and said yes to everything. No one suspected what got into my head every time I went upstairs to make the master bed.

I had always liked provoking people in silence. Beneath my plain clothes I wore lace, garter belts, tiny thongs that rubbed against my pussy and kept me wet almost all day. At first I didn't do it for anyone in particular; I did it for myself, for the feeling of being disguised as a serious young woman while feeling like a hot slut beneath the fabric. It turned me on to think that no one knew. It turned me on even more to think that one day someone would find out.

The couple treated me well. She was elegant and reserved, the kind of woman who spoke softly and seemed to have everything under control. He was even quieter, but he had a presence that asserted itself effortlessly. Several times I saw him cross the hallway fresh from the shower, a loose towel around his waist, his wet chest and the clean smell of soap filling everything. One afternoon he raised his arm to dry his hair, and the towel dropped a second too far. It was nothing more than a glimpse, but it was enough for me.

From then on I started touching myself at night while thinking about him. Not clumsy kisses or gentle caresses, but his body on top of mine, his hand gripping me hard, that heavy brown cock entering where no one had entered yet. I was an adult; I knew very well what I wanted and what I liked imagining, but I was still inexperienced in certain things. That mixture of desire and lack of practice drove me crazy.

Everything changed the day I opened a drawer I had no business opening.

I had finished dusting and was putting folded clothes away in the dressing room when a garment slipped from my hands. As I bent down, I accidentally hit a low drawer, and it sprang open. I was about to shut it immediately, but I saw the edge of some black lace and stopped. I looked toward the door, listened to the silence of the house, and pulled it open a little farther.

There was her secret.

There were perfectly arranged lingerie sets, but they weren't everyday clothes. They were pieces made to arouse: transparent bodysuits, garter belts, open thongs, sheer stockings, bras that barely covered anything. Mixed in with all of it were several toys, some small and others so large that they made me squeeze my thighs at once. One had a broad base and a rounded head, with pronounced veins and a dark color that made me think of him immediately. Another vibrator was long and elegant, almost too beautiful for how obscene it was to imagine it inside me.

I felt a wave of heat between my legs. My thong suddenly grew wet, as if my body had made the decision before my mind. I closed the bedroom door—not locking it, afraid that would give me away, but leaving only a narrow crack. Then I went back to the drawer and touched one of the thongs. It was soft, warm from being shut away, and still my imagination swore it held the scent of its owner.

I knew I was crossing a line. That was precisely why I couldn't stop.

I stripped quickly, leaving myself in only the bra and the wet thong I was wearing. Then I grabbed a black lace garment and slowly pulled it up my legs. It cinched my waist, framed my ass, and left my pussy almost exposed. Then I put on the garter belt and stockings. When I saw myself in the wardrobe mirror, my face flushed and my chest rising and falling, I bit my lip. I looked like the kind of woman I imagined myself as at night when I wanted to come hard: a classy whore hiding behind a respectable appearance.

I sat on the edge of the master bed and ran a hand over the bedspread. Everything smelled of them: perfume, soap, skin, someone else's intimacy. That smell gave me the final push. I opened the drawer again, took out the large dildo, and held it in both hands. It weighed more than I expected. I brought it to my face and kissed the tip, barely a touch, as if I were testing an idea that had been growing inside me for far too long.

Then I opened my mouth and started sucking it.

At first I was clumsy. The head bumped my tongue and I moaned just from feeling its size. I lubricated it with saliva, moving up and down slowly, pulling it out to lick the side, then putting it back in as far as I could. I imagined that he was the one giving it to me, holding my hair from behind and forcing me to open my throat wide. The image made me tremble. I spit on the dildo, gripped it better, and pushed it deeper, feeling slight gags and a filthy pleasure that set my whole body alight.

“That's it… fuck me with it like that,” I whispered, and hearing my own voice say it made me even worse.

I kept sucking it anxiously, with no elegance left, saliva running down my chin and my nipples hard beneath the bra. I moved my hand in time with the motion, as if I were really blowing a man I'd been craving for weeks. I pulled the toy from my mouth to rub it between my tits, then put it back in. I closed my eyes. I imagined a man's breath over my head, a curt command, a slap across the cheek. My pussy throbbed so hard that I had to slip my hand inside my thong and touch my clitoris to keep my balance.

I don't know how long I spent like that, panting and sucking someone else's toy on a bed that wasn't mine. I only know that I ended up kneeling on the mattress, my back arched and my legs spread. I pulled the dildo from my mouth, looked at it covered in saliva, and got brutally turned on by the thought that before long it would be buried in my pussy. I took off the borrowed thong, folded it badly and without care, and set it aside so I wouldn't tear it. Then I ran two fingers through my slit and checked how wet I was.

I was soaked.

I got on all fours, braced on my elbows. With one hand I spread my lips, and with the other I brought the tip of the dildo to my entrance. The first push made me snort. It didn't go all the way in—not even close; I had to stay still for a moment, breathing and letting my body give way. Then I pushed again. I felt it opening me, filling me little by little, and a deep moan escaped straight into the bedspread.

“Fuck… yes… like that…”

I kept pushing it in slowly until I felt truly occupied. It hurt a little, but I liked that pull, that mixture of burn and raw pleasure. I leaned farther forward and began moving my hips. Every rocking motion made the toy rub against me differently inside. I pulled it almost all the way out and drove it back in. This time harder. My ass slapped against the base, and I had to bite a pillow to keep from screaming.

I quickly found a rhythm. It went in and out of me with a wet sound that would have embarrassed me to repeat out loud, but there it drove me crazy. I rode it backward, forcing it in, then rotated my hips a little and clenched around it to feel it better. One hand was busy with the toy and the other was between my legs, rubbing my clitoris in faster and faster circles. I was sweating. The garter belt marked my thighs. The mirror gave me back an obscene image: an adult woman, trembling, dressed in someone else's lingerie and fucking herself as if there were no tomorrow.

I started talking dirty to myself because I needed to. Because I got turned on hearing myself become what I only dared to be there, locked away.

“That's what you wanted, isn't it?” I told myself in a broken whisper. “Coming here to spread your legs… swallowing her things… coming in her bed like a whore.”

My hips sped up. I pulled the dildo out and shoved it back in with a rougher stroke. A delicious cramp shot from my pussy up into my belly. The pleasure was no longer delicate; it was a filthy, almost furious urgency. I brought two fingers to my mouth, sucked them, and lowered them to my clitoris, rubbing with more pressure. With my other hand I kept the toy moving. I could hear myself panting, hear the bed barely tapping against the wall, and the possibility of being discovered only made everything worse.

Then I started imagining him coming in.

I saw it in my head with brutal clarity: opening the bedroom door and stopping when he saw me on all fours, my ass raised and the toy buried between my legs. I imagined his expression of surprise turning into something darker. I knew exactly what I wanted to happen next. I wanted him to see me that indecent. I wanted him to know I used his wife's things while thinking about him. I wanted him to humiliate me for it and still fuck me.

The fantasy sent me into an orgasm. I came with my whole body rigid, shaking around the dildo, moaning into the sheet and squeezing my legs so tightly I almost expelled it. I felt the wetness spread, my muscles contracting again and again, and it took several seconds before I could breathe normally. When at last I let myself fall onto my side, I still had the toy inside me and my pulse was racing.

It should have been enough to frighten me into never doing it again. It had exactly the opposite effect.

***

I went back to the drawer a week later with less guilt and more hunger.

By then I knew the rhythms of the house, the dead hours, the sound of the gate, the exact distance between the hallway and the master bedroom. That day I didn't merely look. I came prepared. Beneath my simple uniform I wore stockings and a tiny thong I'd put on solely to take off there. I closed the curtains halfway, left the door ajar so I could hear any movement, and opened the drawer with hands that no longer trembled as much.

I chose a transparent bodysuit and put it on slowly, enjoying the feeling of dressing for no one and for one very specific fantasy. Then I took out a slim vibrator, a small plug, and the same dark dildo from the first time. I arranged them on the bed as if they were tools for a private ritual. Just seeing them lined up made me let out a breath through my teeth.

I started with my nipples. I pinched them through the fabric, then underneath it, until they were truly hard. I slipped my hand between my legs and stroked my pussy through the bodysuit, pressing where I throbbed most. The vibrator went to my clitoris first. I barely touched it there and jolted. It was an intense, precise vibration, the kind that leaves you unable to think about anything else. I spread my legs, reclined on the bed, and moved it around the most sensitive spot while using my other hand to part my lips and feel everything more fully.

It didn't take long for my wetness to stain the fabric. The bodysuit got in the way and turned me on at the same time, so I pulled it down to my waist, leaving my breasts covered and my pussy bare. I put in one finger, then two, just to prepare myself. They slid in and out slickly, and I bit my forearm to muffle the sounds. When I felt ready, I took the plug, covered it with lubricant from the drawer, and first ran it over my back entrance. The contact made me clench by reflex.

I took a deep breath and tried again.

I pushed it in very slowly, relaxing with every millimeter, until it went all the way in and left me with a new, strange, delicious pressure. I moaned softly. Having it there made me feel more open, more used, more obscene. I got on all fours again, arching my back, and then I picked up the large dildo. This time I wasn't so timid. I guided it to my wet pussy and drove it in with a firm, determined, almost defiant movement.

“Look at me,” I whispered toward the mirror, as if he were really behind me.

I started fucking myself eagerly. The plug pressed from behind and the dildo filled me from the front; every thrust blended both sensations into a single current of raw pleasure. I gripped the headboard with one hand and kept the toy moving in and out with the other. My buttocks trembled. The wet sound grew louder. I could feel my moans rising through my throat, and by then I no longer cared much about holding them back.

I brought it to my mouth again for a moment, just to get it wetter. I licked it, spat on it, ran it over my swollen pussy lips, and sank it back in. Every time I opened and closed around it, I thought of a real cock doing exactly that to me, without care, forcing me to take it all. The idea of still being inexperienced while at the same time being turned into such a hot woman made me feel vulnerable and powerful at once.

I came a second time faster than I expected, with the vibrator pressed against my clitoris and the dildo buried deep inside. It was a shorter but more violent orgasm, the kind that leaves your legs weak and your pussy throbbing. I lay on my back, panting, with the plug still inside, and raised one leg to spread myself wider. I could see myself in the mirror and didn't quite recognize myself. I loved that.

I had started removing the plug when I heard a noise downstairs.

I froze.

At first I thought it was the house creaking, a neighbor, anything. Then I heard a door close and clear footsteps on the ground floor. My heart gave such a powerful leap it almost hurt. I sat up abruptly, pulled out the plug, removed the dildo from my still-clenched pussy, and pulled down the bodysuit as best I could. My hands moved too quickly. I wanted to put everything away, erase my trail, become the efficient woman I always was again.

But the footsteps came up the stairs.

I didn't have time to get fully dressed. I barely managed to leave the vibrator on the bed and stand up when the door opened all the way. He appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed in surprise. I stood frozen. The bodysuit was bunched around my waist, my stockings were on, my hair was disheveled, and my legs were still spread too wide. On the bedspread, in plain sight, lay his toys covered in my saliva and wetness.

Neither of us said anything for two seconds that felt eternal.

“So it was you,” he said at last, closing the door behind him.

His voice didn't sound indignant. It sounded low. Heavy. That unsettled me more than a shout would have.

“I…” I tried to speak, but my throat was dry.

“I've seen you acting strange several times when you were doing the bedroom,” he continued, taking a step closer. “I never thought I'd find this.”

I lowered my eyes by reflex, although part of me wanted to hold his gaze. I was afraid, yes, but beneath the fear was such wild excitement that I almost got dizzy. My pussy was still sensitive and throbbing, and my entire body wanted one thing: for him not to leave.

“I'm sorry,” I murmured. “I shouldn't have…”

“You shouldn't have,” he repeated. “And yet you did.”

I nodded. There was no point lying surrounded by evidence.

He came close enough to stand right in front of me. His gaze dropped to my breasts, the bodysuit hanging wrongly, my damp thighs. Then he picked up the large dildo from the bed and held it before me. It was gleaming. I swallowed.

“Do you suck it too?” he asked.

A lash of sensation shot straight between my legs. The shame aroused me more than any caress could have.

“Yes,” I answered in a thread of voice.

“Look at me when you speak.”

I obeyed. His eyes were fixed on mine, hard, attentive, hot.

“Yes,” I repeated, more clearly this time.

He lifted his chin slightly, indicating the toy.

“Then do it again.”

I knelt without thinking. I don't know whether it was submission, desire, or simply the momentum of a fantasy fulfilled, but I ended up on the floor looking up at him, exactly as I had imagined so many nights. I opened my mouth and ran my tongue over the head of the dildo. At first he didn't touch me. He only watched. That gaze stripped me more naked than any hand.

I took it between my lips and began sucking slowly, without taking my eyes completely off him. I fondled one breast through the fabric and moaned around the toy. Then I felt his hand in my hair. He didn't pull hard, but he pulled enough to make it clear he was in charge. He pushed me slightly forward. I understood the command and took it deeper.

“That's it,” he said. “If you like playing with things that aren't yours, at least do it properly.”

The bluntness of the words made me moan again. I kept sucking, using more saliva, letting him guide me with a hand at the nape of my neck. He released me for a moment to pull the bodysuit up to my breasts and bare more of my torso. Then he pinched one nipple, and I let out a muffled gasp around the dildo. The brief pain and pleasure mingled in a way that made me squeeze my thighs.

When he pulled it from my mouth, a thread of saliva hung from it. He looked at me for a few seconds and said:

“Turn around. Brace yourself against the bed.”

I did it immediately. I bent over the mattress, my ass toward him and my heart racing. I heard his belt, then his zipper. I didn't need to see him to know what was happening. Even so, I turned my head just enough to catch a glimpse of him. His cock was out, thick and still only half-hard, and the sight of it left me breathless. This wasn't fantasy. It was right there.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, bringing it toward my face.

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, I wanted to see it. I wanted to suck it. I wanted you to fuck me.”

He laughed under his breath, not mockingly but darkly.

“At least you're honest when you're caught.”

He put it to my lips. I opened them, and this time it wasn't silicone; it was heat, weight, living skin. The tip brushed my tongue and I moaned from sheer shock. I began sucking him hungrily, stroking the base with one hand while the other wandered between my legs. He grew quickly in my mouth. Every time I took him a little deeper, I felt his thigh tense beside my shoulder. He held my hair firmly and set the pace—not brutally, but possessively. I obeyed gladly, choking back little gags and letting him use my mouth until he left me a mess all over again.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You've been thinking about this for a while.”

I pulled his cock out just to answer:

“Every day.”

That confession seemed to finish off whatever resistance he might have had left. He gently moved me aside, spread my legs wider, and ran the head of his cock over my wet pussy, rubbing from top to bottom. My whole body shuddered. I tried to push backward to find the entrance, but he stopped me with a hand on my hip.

“Stay still. I want to feel how wet you are.”

He ran it over my lips again, slowly, smearing me with more of my own wetness and barely brushing my clitoris. It was delicious torture. When he finally positioned himself at my entrance, he paused for a second.

“If I tell you to stop, you stop. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Then he pushed.

The first penetration tore a loud, involuntary moan from me. He was much hotter, harder, and more alive than any toy. He opened me slowly at first, letting me adjust, but when he felt me taking him well, he moved deeper. I gripped the bedspread hard. I felt burning, pressure, a brutal fullness that brought a few tears to my eyes. I wanted more, and at the same time I wasn't sure my body could handle so much. He noticed, because he leaned over me and said in my ear:

“Breathe. It'll all go in if you really were asking for it.”

I did. I relaxed my legs, lowered my belly, and let him sink all the way in. When he was completely inside, I stayed trembling. He exhaled against my neck and remained still for a few seconds, seeming to enjoy the sensation too. My pussy was clamped tightly around his cock, and every small movement made me see sparks.

Then he began thrusting.

At first slowly, measuring me, pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in. Then more firmly. Every stroke moved me forward across the bed. The wet sound returned, now mixed with the slap of his pelvis against my buttocks. I could do nothing but open wider, push my ass back, and take him. He slipped one hand beneath my belly to find my clitoris and began rubbing it in the same rhythm as he fucked me. My legs went weak.

“So you liked playing at being a hidden bitch,” he said, panting near my ear.

“Yes…”

“Then look at yourself.”

He lifted my upper body a little so I could see the mirror. There we were: him behind me, half-dressed, thrusting with his jaw tight; me bent over the bed, my bodysuit pulled up, stockings on, mouth open. Seeing the scene reflected completely undid me. It looked exactly like the fantasy I had brought myself off to so many times, except now it was really happening and felt better, dirtier, more intense.

He increased the pace. He wasn't testing me anymore; he was really fucking me. His thrusts grew shorter and harder, striking an inner spot that made me cry out his name again and again. I reached between my legs because I needed more, and he didn't stop me. I rubbed my clitoris furiously while he kept driving all the way inside. The mattress creaked. My stockings slipped. My moans were no longer discreet.

“Don't stop,” I begged. “Please, don't stop. Harder.”

“Now you know how to ask,” he replied, and gave me exactly that.

He gripped my waist with both hands and began driving into me with such force that I let out a hoarse scream. Every thrust shook my breasts, moved my entire body, and left my pussy throbbing around him. I could barely coordinate my fingers over my clitoris, but I kept touching myself because I was on the edge. He was breathing harder too; I could see it in the tension of his arms and the little grunts escaping him.

The orgasm hit me all at once. I came, clenching violently around his cock, trembling against the bed, my legs unable to support me properly. He didn't pull out. He kept thrusting through my shaking, taking advantage of my contractions, stretching the pleasure until it became almost unbearable. I moaned wordlessly, completely surrendered to what was happening.

Shortly afterward I felt him tense behind me. He held me tighter, gave me three sharp thrusts, and stayed buried to the hilt while he came with a low, hot groan close to the nape of my neck. I felt him pulsing inside me and shuddered again. It took him several seconds to withdraw. When he did, a thick mixture slid down my thighs, and I had to close my legs by reflex.

Neither of us spoke right away.

I was still bent over the bed, breathing as if I had run for miles. He stepped away, adjusted his clothes halfway, and then took a small towel from the bathroom to clean me with a strange, almost careful calm that contrasted with the way he had fucked me. The gesture sent a different shiver through my body. It wasn't tenderness exactly. It was something else. A strange, dangerous intimacy.

“This can't become a casual thing,” he said at last.

I slowly sat up, my legs still weak. I looked at him. His hair was somewhat disheveled, and his expression was much less cold than it had been at first.

“I know,” I answered.

It was true and it wasn't. I knew it was a risk, madness, a betrayal. But I also knew that as soon as I was alone again, I would remember every second, every word, every thrust, and come again just thinking about it. My confession doesn't end with clean remorse or a moral. It ends with something much dirtier and more honest.

It ends with the certainty that for weeks I sucked his toys while thinking about his cock, and that the day I finally had it in my mouth and inside me, reality surpassed everything I had imagined.