I, Arielle: My Sex Diary

Just some thoughts so you get to know me better. Besides, I feel like typing something, anything.

Today, I was sick. At least officially. My boss must have believed I was in fact I was sobering up, but left me alone. Perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t find out the truth.

I love erotica. I also love real stories of people getting off, either solo or with a partner. Reading authentic stories is far more arousing than reading fantasies. The only thing I dislike about true stories is that most of them are very short. I enjoy reading from both males and females, although stories from females are usually better written and more sensual. Too bad girls writing about their sexual experiences are being outnumbered by guys. Come on, ladies! Even a chicken like me started her own sex diary. Don’t be shy! (Look who’s talking)

I like reading about solo sex. Somehow my deviant side prefers stories from women, that I find very arousing, but also very instructive. Reading a couple good stories is worth more than reading a book. I read the books too, of course, as well as articles and everything I can find online.

I need to get off about once a week. At this point I’m starting to make wet dreams and fantasize during the day. After ten days, I’m so horny I can’t even concentrate. The bad thing about it is, I have a hard time climaxing without sex toys, so I can’t even lock myself up in the ladies’ bathroom or in a closet; I have to wait until I get back home!

Strangely, I spent two years without masturbating until I resumed less than six months ago. Studies plus work must have truly worn me out for someone as sexual as me not to think about sex any longer. Read my first story?

I need a cock so baaad! It’s been three months since last time I slept with a guy and it wasn’t all that great. I miss my previous lover, Vincent. He was fantastic. We met at the university three years ago and since the very first day we couldn’t take our hands off each other. We managed to have sex every day (night) for two whole months. He was so romantic too. Then he suddenly died of a heart attack. He was only 20, dammit, give me a break! According to the doctors, his cardiac malformation went unnoticed until his heart failed him. And I almost died of heartache, cursing destiny for weeks for taking him away from me so cruelly. I came that close to kill myself one night, walking on the edge of the roof of a fifteen stories building completely drunk, ready to jump. I just didn’t have the guts to do it. Here I am crying again like a little girl. I can only dream of finding another lover like him. I miss him so much.

I don’t know how I can fit a boyfriend into my schedule, but I need it so badly that I’ll give it a try.

Which one is best, men or sex toys? I don’t know. Perhaps the answer is men with sex toys. I have yet to experience both at the same time. Speaking of toys, I prefer vibrators by far. I dream of having a long metal rod instead of my timid silver bullet but I don’t have the nerve to walk into a sex shop and buy one.

My dearest fantasy is to travel across Europe with my dream lover. Then we would have sex in the Alps, or on top of an old castle while closed to the public. I fantasize a lot about having sex outdoors, although I never dared to do it. Yet.

I would like to watch adult movies, but I can’t find any good one. My friends simply have no taste when it comes to that. As for online reviews, not only it’s hard to find anything for us ladies, but it’s always classified by perversion! Are there straight and sweet videos for her out there? I would like your recommendations.

Am I the only shameless moaner out there? Despite evidence of the contrary, I still have the feeling of being very lonely. Whenever I receive pleasure I reach a level where I can no longer control myself, moans or whatever, and after that it looks like a tornado went through the place. I know you guys like wild moaners fainting on mind blowing orgasms but I never got used to it. I feel so ashamed of myself to lack even the rudiments of self-control. Sometimes I start crying after the act and my partner has to enlace and comfort me; ironically, it may be the part of partner sex that I prefer. I know I’m silly but that’s what I need, and that’s why self pleasure is never fulfilling in the end, no matter how good it was. In my case, sex toys cannot replace an understanding and comforting (male) partner.

I like to write. I thought about writing some fantasies but I just like authentic stories better, and I can’t tell any other than my own. There is some magic in real life sex in all its good and bad aspects that makes it different, sweet, more enjoyable than the average dirty talk erotic novel. I like to get into a person’s or character’s head when I read erotic stories and I prefer them at the first person. I fantasize a lot about what it would be like to be a man when I read a story written by one. How it would be like to have a cock, to be strong and manly, how it feels when they get inside us, how they feel when we touch them, when they please us. Strange, isn’t it? How about you?

One last thing: Is it normal, or healty, to masturbate to exhaustion most of the time like I do? Please advise.

I did not sleep last night. I had just completed another story I plan to post some other date. It brought back a lot of sweet memories and aroused me in a very special way.

Before I tell you more, promise me you won’t laugh. Please… Oh well, I’m sure you will anyway.

I had been writing down my account of my very first orgasms, from more than eight years ago. The first one I had reached through humping a pillow all night. It is one of the best memories I have, no matter how naive it was. Long before I was finished writing that story, I was already highly aroused. Before the end, I was grinding my pussy against my seat, hardly realizing what I was doing. I was completely immersed into my childhood memories. In a sudden burst of nostalgia, I wanted to repeat the experience. The rule was to get myself off only through humping and grinding, and without accessories except a pillow.

See? I told you you would laugh. To be honest, I found this a bit funny myself. For a few hours I became the little girl I used to be and laughed all the time, before, during and after. I had so much fun.

On to the details. I turned off the computer and got changed, wearing only a t-shirt and silk panties (no bra). Then I jumped on my queen size bed, threw the curtains on the floor and rolled to the right side of the mattress (I sleep on the left side and jill on the right side; you figure out why). I took a pillow and put it between my legs, while my head rested on the other. First I tried to grind it only through squeezing my tights. Then I got on my knees and started to hump the pillow for real, bursting out in laughs. That form of stimulation is not intense, but nonetheless pleasurable. I didn’t grind the pillow too hard at first, barely teasing my pussy. Then I rode it harder and faster, leaning forward, supporting myself with my hands. It felt real good. I wasn’t nearly coming yet, but it didn’t matter. It felt just as sensual as a body massage.

At some point I wanted more. I turned around and lied on my stomach, facing the mattress, still grinding the pillow between my legs, putting my face into the other pillow. Then I ground my whole body against the mattress, focusing on my chest and my pussy, rocking the bed. Now that was more like it. I pressed myself against the mattress harder and harder as minutes passed. I was having so much fun I couldn’t stop laughing, except of course for a moan once in a while. But whenever I reached that step I slowed down a bit. I wanted to cultivate that orgasm for as long as possible, remembering how long it took the first time and how good it was. I kept doing this for minutes, then hours. Naturally, after three to four hours of this, even slowing down doesn’t help much and I felt my first orgasm building up inside. This compelled me to grind the mattress even harder, to the point I felt like I was penetrating into it, molding it to the shape of my body. I was moving at an incredible pace even though I was getting quite tired after all this time. Who cares, I was flying.

I moaned and groaned into the pillow just like I had done in the past, adding to my ecstasy. I usually don’t fantasize during masturbation, but this time I was really into it, trying to recreate that exact same experience, only better, and this game was driving me wild. The feeling in my crotch was intensifying. It was only the second time in my life I had built an orgasm for that long and I could no longer wait to learn how good it would be. My breathing quickened, the frequency of my moans rose like a power peak, and so did my pleasure. I was rocking the bed so hard it was moving toward the center of the room. I couldn’t help putting maximum pressure on my tingling, throbbing clit which begged for a release, and so did I, screaming as I sensed it closing fast. That’s it, I was coming, I was coming… and I came, so hard that I lost my cadence, moving anarchically. I released a long, long scream that even the pillow couldn’t absorb. Powerful spasms shocked my entire body, to the point that I had a hard time keeping my grasp on the mattress. Oh yeah, that felt good. Oh yeah…

It wasn’t over yet. I kept going, begging for more. I had regained my control, so I could start building the next orgasm in line. My pussy was still feeling very high, even though it was just as worn out as I was. But I had to keep going, if only not to let the last few hours go to waste. I knew I could get multiple orgasms with just a little more effort. My lower back was aching, but I didn’t care either. All I cared about was pleasure as I kept laughing and groaning, then moaning loudly, breathing deeply, then rapidly, moving faster, pressing harder. The second orgasm took less than two minutes to build up and it was even stronger than the first, so powerful that it made me pull out the sheets. By the time it faded, I had slip off the bed starting from the waist. I kneeled on the floor, then humped the pillow from there, still grinding the mattress from the waist up. It didn’t work out very well so I resigned myself to just riding the pillow on the floor, not even willing to stop long enough to get back on the bed. It was a bit harder that way so I had to use both hands to press the pillow against myself, but it ended up working just fine. I felt the third one coming already. I moved even faster than earlier and moaned even more, then screamed as a third explosion of pleasure between my legs made me arch my back and bend my head backward, then forward as my eyes wouldn’t move away from the source of my satisfaction. I was jubilating, won over by the fever of ecstasy and euphoria, shivering of joyfulness.

I kept at it for about another hour, during which I came no less than eight times. Then I laid there on the floor, completely worn out, covered with sweat, unable to catch my breath, my heart racing. I had masturbated for about five hours and climaxed a total of eleven times in less than 90 minutes. I laid there for quite a while after that. Even once I found the strength to get back on my feet, sleeping on the bed was out of question; I had thrown everything on the floor and felt way too lazy to put everything back into place. I rather dragged myself on the couch in the living room. But in the end, I couldn’t manage to fall asleep after this and then dragged myself under the shower, where I didn’t even bother to wash myself but just let the water run on my skin, arms crossed on my chest. There I came back on what happened, as whenever I masturbate to exhaustion (quite often lately), feeling both satisfaction and shame, regardless of what my rational self come up with. I just can’t help being ashamed of getting off on childhood (childish) memories all night when I must get up to work first thing in the morning.

And there I am typing these words before going back on the couch and try to sleep a bit. To Hell with work today… I’m sick. Good day.

This happened about five months ago. It is my most amazing and unusual sexual experience to date.

I returned from work past 1PM that night and I was completely exhausted… or so I thought. I just dropped everything and laid down on the sofa, which is right next to the window. The view is very beautiful and the moon was full, so I didn’t even bother to open the lights. I just laid there, facing the ceiling, my arms hanging above my head. I untied my hair, then put my hands back on my stomach and rested.

More than once have I just fallen asleep there, but not that night. For some reason I couldn’t close my eyes; all I could do was stare at the ceiling or admire the view outside. From the window I could see the entire illuminated city below. It was wonderful.

I was definitely too tense to sleep, so I lit some candles. Perhaps I would read a novel, something I hadn’t done since time immemorial. But in the end, I was just too lazy to get on my feet and grab one. My body felt like it was weighting one ton.

For minutes, I would just dip my right hand fingers into the wax of one of the larger candles. It was hot, but bearable. The air was unbearably hot however, even with the window open, so my left hand ended up unbuttoning my sweaty blouse, and why not removing my skirt while being at it. Then I derived half-naked on the sofa for several minutes. But I still couldn’t sleep. Too tense. Too hot.

Somehow I ended up putting my fingers in my panties. Yeah, those fingers with candle wax on them. I didn’t exactly touch myself yet, but I realized that spending the last two years in a constant rush at work meant spending that many years without having sex. I didn’t even think of masturbating and besides, I had never been really fond of touching myself with my bare fingers; somehow I’ve always found that uncomfortable. But then I wondered how it would feel like with warm, wax-coated fingers. I asked my clit and it told me it liked that, even though it was rather hot. But then I removed my fingers immediately.

I knew I was going to do it anyway. It was obvious. I couldn’t help caressing my stomach, fingers stretched, brushing my pubic hair, teasing myself. That exercise would draw me insane. I don’t know how much time I managed to stand this, but it looked like hours. Tortured by desire, on the edge of madness, I soaked my panties with my wetness. I was a bit afraid of soaking the leather sofa as well, so I discarded my panties, grabbed the first piece of cloth I found and sat on it.

My bras have always been a bit tight, so when my nipples erected, it started to hurt. I removed and threw my bra away, then began to caress my breasts with both hands. I enjoyed the feeling of the wax on my right breast. For some reason, I tried to keep my hand away from my pussy by caressing and squeezing my breasts harder. Boy, it felt good. They say sex is just better after long periods of abstinence and the longer the better; I can testify in favor of that. I think I came just by massaging my breasts, I’m not sure. My breath became deeper and longer as I focused on my very sensitive nipples. I was so eager to touch my pussy that I started to make pelvic movements.

As I pivoted my head toward the window, I was compelled to dip my fingers into the wax again. Besides, I knew what I was going to do next. I didn’t even wait for the wax to cool off a bit to put them straight on my tingling, pulsing clit (I had never really touched it directly before, only through the hood) and start stroking and circling. It felt like when you eat something spicy; you almost burn your tongue but it tastes just too good (I love spicy food). Meanwhile, my left hand would squeeze my breast or caress my inner tight. I breathed deeply and heavily, faster as seconds looking like minutes passed. I couldn’t help moving my pelvis and contracting all my muscles. Never before had I felt something that intense, and I hadn’t even reached orgasm yet! I’ve always been slow to come but that night it seemed like it would never come at all. In fact, I almost dreaded it wouldn’t.

And then I came. I arched my back and moaned like there was no tomorrow as lightning struck through my spine and nearly broke my neck. It lasted as longer as it took to reach it. At some point it was so intense that I almost fell off the sofa. And then it slowly faded away. I couldn’t help to keep moaning and breathing loudly, just as I couldn’t help keeping my fingers between my legs, then slide them down to my lips. I had never been able to finger myself before like my high school friends did; perhaps it was because I wasn’t wet enough, but I tried with jelly once and it didn’t work out either. Despite the experience I had just suffered (I still couldn’t believe it nor recover), I had to try with candle wax. I had to. That mere thought compelled me to try it out. Several minutes later, of course, once I was able to get my shaking hand off my pussy.

I started by coating some on my stomach, then dipping again, on my breasts, then again, on my inner tights. I dreaded to do in on my lips so I proceeded slowly. It was a-ma-zing. The warm feeling was so breathtaking. As I gently put my three generously dipped fingers inside, I arched my back even more violently than before, sitting back on the sofa, bending my head backward, staring at the ceiling, mouth wide open, groaning, moaning louder than I thought I could. The feeling was electric. My eyes started to move real fast on their own and for a second I felt like they would roll backward like in the movies, exposing only the white part of the ocular globe. I had to pull my legs back (still widely spread apart) and sit in fetal position. I can’t accurately describe the feeling in my vagina. It felt somewhere between warm and hot, penetrating to the deepest layers of the walls inside, a bit like mint or Vicks. But much stronger. I felt every single of my nervous endings being intensely and continuously stimulated by the wax, amplified by movements of my fingers which were coating it everywhere with circular and pressing motion, mixing it with my abundant juices. I didn’t care how I would take that out at the moment; all that mattered was to move my fingers and my pelvis, squeezing my fingers with what I believe to be my Kegel muscle.

I fell back and kept fingering myself, my left hand reaching my breast, my legs extending farther and spreading wider than I thought possible, as I started to breathe and moan louder and faster. My heart pounded so hard that I could feel it in my chest and through my temples. Drops of sweat were running on my neck, my chest, my abdomen, my tights, making their way through the wax. I could feel my entire body throbbing and my mind was getting sharper than it ever had been, noticing every single detail, amplifying every single sensation, reaching through every nerve ending. I felt a burst of warmth contrasting with the coldness of my sweat. I remember during that eternity how the light of the candles reflected on the ceiling and how beautiful it was, how it looked like it was turning but it was my head that was spinning due to euphoria, how everything around appeared to sparkle like magic. I almost felt like my mind was reaching outside my body. Well, almost.

How long did I finger myself like that? I don’t know. For quite a while I guess. It seems like that feeling of self-awareness considerably delayed the nonetheless unavoidable orgasm, which at some point I felt would be considerably more intense itself. That precise feeling brought me back to reality as I knew I was about to come. Then I began thrusting my fingers quite violently against the upper wall and that is how I believe I have located my G-spot. Just as I had previously thought it couldn’t get any better (worse), I almost exploded. I stroked that precise spot at an almost supernatural speed, rising up a bit, supporting myself on my left elbow, my left hand painfully squeezing my breast (I couldn’t lessen my grip), and then I came again. Even with a vibrator or when being eaten by a guy I’ve never felt anything like that, ever. I screamed with pleasure as I fell back violently and arched my back and pushed my pelvis forward, bending my knees (my legs were hanging each side of the seat), standing on my toes, cramping my right hand and involuntarily stroking my clit with my palm, planting my left hand’s nails into my flesh, screaming louder and louder until I ran out of air, gasping then resuming my moans, shedding tears of joy that ran down my cheeks. It lasted forever, that undescribable mixture of intense pleasure and pain. Well, less than a minute, probably, but far longer than any other orgasm I had experienced before. I had violent, rapid spasms throughout the orgasm and even several minutes afterward, breathing faster and my heart pounding harder than after thirty minutes of jogging. As I rested, laying on the sofa, still shaking from the experience, I realized how much of a sport jilling could be.

My body was hurting so much that I couldn’t move, yet I was feeling very well, relaxed. I was remembering how it felt like to be a woman as I slowly derived toward sleep, completely exhausted (now I was), intoxicated by the smells of sweat, juices, perfumed candles. I spent the night naked on the sofa, three fingers inside my pussy, coated with candle wax, right next to a wide open window for everyone to enjoy the view (well, they would need googles, or a telescope, I guess). I almost wished that happened; it was too great an experience not to share with others. That is why I’m writing it down, by the way. It’s truly once in a lifetime.

The next weekend I told that experience to my best friend, Vanessa. She is sexually more open (and much less shy) than me and she had told me a couple of her own experiences before (either solo or with a boyfriend). To my surprise, she gently brushed and caressed my hair like my mom used to do long ago. “Stress must come out one way or another, sister”, she told me, and that she had told me it would happen sooner or later, don’t I remember? We ended up talking about solo fun all afternoon, sharing experiences, ideas, even toys. Thanks to her, masturbation has become a ritual for me, while she seeks a boyfriend suitable to a workaholic like myself. By the way, she ended up trying the candle wax thing, but it didn’t work out nearly as well as it did for me; in fact, she almost burned her fingers right away and didn’t have enough resolve to try it on her genitals. It mustn’t be her thing, I guess.

Oh my gosh, I didn’t intend to write that much; I must have gotten carried away. So much has happened since that day, I have plenty more material to write about and share with the world, so I may post more stories soon.

P.S.: Playing with candle wax is kinda messy, especially if you put some into your vagina. Once it dries up inside, it’s pretty hard to take it out and you have no other option than using your fingers to take every single fragment out. Think twice before trying this. It’s really messy.

Oh, and candle wax is rather hot. If you’re not the type to eat real spicy food or grab a hot plate with your bare hands, you may not want that thing on your pussy either, let alone inside, and even if you do, be careful not to burn yourself. Really, I made some research on the web and it turns out to be a bit more hardcore than I first thought.

Call me Arielle. I am a young, 22 years old woman exploring her sexuality. I work for an accounting firm while attending university part time. Nowadays, my sex life consists mostly of daring masturbation, although every once in a while I spend a wild night with a guy. I am very shy, but I am so embarassed of it that it actually drives me forward. I love reading novels, erotica, spicy food, classical music, sunbathing, driving, drinking and of course sex. I fantasize about having sex outdoors, especially at majestic heights, although my wish has yet to be fulfilled.