Making Space

Jayne Renault
7 mins read
Published about 3 years ago

It wasn’t a Sunday, but it felt like it could be. 

She had slept later than she normally did, and as she reluctantly slipped closer and closer to full consciousness, she realized that she was caught in a bit of a bind. 

She really wanted to stay in bed. All snuggled up in the comfort of her sheets until the sun set and rose once more, shirking any and all of the obligations the day was about to force upon her. At the same time, she knew that her pile of work wouldn’t appreciate that kind of neglect, that she really should get up and tackle the day, feel productive and accomplish… anything. 

What a dilemma.

Perhaps it was because she worked from home, but she didn’t often find the time to enjoy her space just for the sake of enjoying it. If she ever got around to making the time to do something other than work or sleep, it was most likely because she had company to entertain.

On this day, however, she gave herself permission to linger in those moments between sleep and work longer than usual, taking a little extra time to appreciate her space as if for the very first time. 

She flirted with the idea of doing her work from bed. But she knew she wouldn't accomplish anything like that. Although, when she did finally peel herself from her cloud-like shroud, she didn’t get very far. Still wrapped in a blanket, she gathered up her things and moved to the sofa. The coffee machine percolated in the kitchen, wafting its toasted bouquet into the living room where she had set up her papers and laptop on the table. 

Though the room was naturally illuminated with the sheen of mid-morning, the windows were not featuring any direct sunlight in that moment. She arranged herself on the couch with her coffee, hugging both hands around the hot mug and glared back at the insufferable computer screen in front of her. 

She leaned back with a defeated sigh, allowing the cushions to tenderly receive her. She had absolutely no desire to address the demands of her clients today.

No one was going to be home until later. She knew that her partner was working well into the evening, and her roommate was out of town for the rest of week. A rare treat - she rarely had the whole place to herself.

Relaxed and open, she suddenly became acutely aware of just how long it had been since she had taken the time to really take care of herself. 

Sex is a beautiful thing, of course. But self-love takes on a whole other frequency that partner work can’t always achieve. To have all of the attention on you, for the exact right amount of time, with the ideal levels of pressure, velocity, and attention all being attended to live, without needing to provide any form of feedback, can be tantamount to perfection.

She put the coffee cup down next to her laptop. All of that could wait, she had decided. It would still be there later when she would be more prepared and less distracted to better deal with it.

She wiggled out of her shorts with the muscle memory of this nearly forgotten ritual, allowing them to fall to the floor. She then pulled her tank top up overhead, placed it in the same pile, and reclined onto her back lengthwise along the couch. She breathed into the new space she had welcomed into all corners of her limbs. There are few things in life more liberating than being fully naked in broad daylight.

At first, she gently placed the warmth of her hands at the apex of her inner thighs. She wasn’t particularly aroused yet, so she knew that she would be able to feel the full progression of her awakening. She let her other hand rest gently on the mound of one breast and closed her eyes. Concentrating on the point of fusion where her fingers met her flesh. Before long, she could both feel and hear the steady drum of her internal cadence and lined her breath up with the rhythm it set. With an inner tempo established, she began to rub slowly up and down, back and forth, and around her clitoris and along her labia, with no particular rhyme or reason to her exploration.

More often than not, when pleasuring herself, she would use the vibrator in her room. One: because it was familiar, consistent, and effective. Two: more importantly, because for her, it was often a much faster process than doing it by hand. And typically, there wasn’t a whole lot time to allow for any pomp and circumstance.

On that day, however, she was prepared to take her sweet time. Play with the variables. Try out some new things. Perhaps she would even be able to surprise herself. All without any sense of urgency or haste thanks to the bonus of a little prolonged privacy. 

As the pad of her middle finger traced delicate circles around her clit while her other fingers drew short lines alongside, she blossomed under her own touch. Following the noticeable deepening of her respiration, she increased the rate at which she rubbed those soft circles round her clit, shifting the downward pressure from her fingertips. She felt her body sink into the cushions of the couch as she allowed the tension to slowly drip from her spine like wax rolling down the length of a taper candle.

She swiveled her hips into this new depth and spread her knees further apart to straddle the air above her, while her center grasped at something that wasn’t there. A silent moan sneaked out through her nostrils and she continued the deliberate massage of her vulva.

The circular motion had always been her go-to technique. She had been using it for years and it had always revealed satisfactory results. Eventually, at any rate - she could be a pretty slow burn on the road to orgasmic fires and had accepted that as her only reality. But with the vibrator, she could expedite the process. So, in theory, she should be able to achieve the same thing with her hand.

Unsure and unconcerned of where this spark of inspiration stemmed from, she quickened her pace, so much so that the circles became a rapid back and forth strokes, crossing her clit diagonally, and she felt the potential swell.

She planted her feet in to the couch beyond the cushion and felt springs push their unwavering support back into her as she lifted her hips. Simultaneously pulling her knees apart and pushing them together, she held firm in her stance, pressing her lower back into her hip flexors.

With her body weight dispersed over the new frame she had built with the flats of her soles and the palms of her shoulder blades, she lifted her other hand and stroked the entrance to her vagina. She was unbelievably wet. Unbelievable because her traditional methods of self-play, though they yielded results, rarely got her very wet until just after climax. As if her body knew that penetration was not about to ensue.

For whatever reason, this time was different.

She paused there for a moment, feeling the new ways this familiar magnitude of the tension filled her spaces. But patience was never her strong suit. 

Without feeling the need for any kind of adjustment period, she inserted two fingers inside her. Her inner walls around them like a Chinese finger trap and massaged her edges from the inside, as she returned to the slower circular strokes over and around her desperately swollen clit with the other hand.

Hip bones still raised towards the ceiling, she felt a weight at the base of her skull invite her to tuck her chin closer to her chest. A pressure built in her throat, locking in an energy swell that she could feel oscillating from the back of her mouth all the way to her pelvic floor and back again.

As she pressed more firmly into the four corners of her feet, her hand was possessed by new, more vehement vigor, rubbing across her engorged clit once more. Like a psychotic queen, she scrubbed aggressively at the spot, and before long, she felt the strain build at an unfamiliar rate. The physical crescendo would have surprised her if she would have had time to think about it.

Initially, she had considered continuing this undulation back and forth between speed and intensity, prolonging this exploratory journey. But something had grabbed hold of her, and any semblance of self-discipline was lost as the compulsion to succumb took over.

Her clit pressed back into her as the friction and pressure bringing her closer and closer to an uncharted edge of ecstasy. Her pelvic floor snuggled in closer to the fingers she had forgotten were still inside her. She shook her head to one side, and then the other as if in denial of the pleasure she was about to receive.

The intense swell of tension squeezed at her clit as she clenched all around the long, curling fingers of a witch casting a spell on her from the inside. And with that, the pressure released almost as quickly as it grew, spreading electric heat from her core to the ends of every limb. Surreal wave after wave rolled through her just as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Perhaps this is why they thought masturbation could cause blindness, she would think later when she looked back at this moment.

She allowed the intensity to fade and her hips to droop. But the inner catch and release persisted as she continued to trace lazy circles around her throbbing pulse. Her breath caught on every savory grasp and squeeze from this curious set of invisible hands inside her.

They gripped her so tightly that she didn’t even hear the front door gasp open and stutter shut again.

More by Queen Jayne:

The Birthday Bash
Chicago Rare
Comings and Goings
Compliance Risk
Condemned Desire
Conservation Area

Devotee
Diamonds and Pearls
The Edge of Glory
Expressions of Grief
For Dommestic Use Only
Hey, Babe.
Just Dessert

Lucky Shot
Marked

 The Slap Bet
Strangers on a Train

Summer Heat
Up Top

QJ
Written by
Queen Jayne Renault

comma chameleon. word witch. smut queen.