The Pulse of Desire
Eva Li
The front door clicked shut, the sound of my roommates' laughter fading into the hum of the elevator down the hall. Finally. Silence. Blessed, complete, uninterrupted silence. The apartment was all mine for the entire night, a rare and beautiful gift. I leaned back against the door, a slow, secret smile spreading across my face. My skin was already buzzing with the promise of it.
I made a show of it, this sudden, delicious freedom. I padded into the living room, not bothering to turn on the main light, just the soft glow of a single lamp. I poured myself a glass of cold white wine, the condensation beading on the glass feeling like a preview against my warm palm. I took it to my bedroom, the one space that was wholly, completely me.
Setting the glass on my nightstand, I let my eyes drift to the top drawer. The one I kept slightly ajar, just a sliver, as if it were breathing. My heart began to beat a little faster, a steady, anticipatory rhythm in my chest. I took a long sip of wine, the crisp tartness sharp on my tongue, and then I opened the drawer.
It was a sleek, red vibrator with a specially curved design and three powerful motors — can be used for clitoral stimulation and also for deep, rhythmic thrusting, creating waves of intense pleasure. I charged it this afternoon, a premeditated act that sent a thrill through me even then.
I placed it on the bed like an offering. Then, i went to the mirror near to my bed, then, slowly, I began to undress. I didn't rush. I let my fingers trail over my own skin, over the soft cotton of my t-shirt, down the curve of my hip where my jeans sat low. I shimmied out of them, then peeled off my socks, my underwear, until I was standing naked in the front of the mirror. The evening air felt like a caress against my heated skin.
I reached across the bed and picked up the vibrator, my thumb finding the button at its base. Press it. A low, gentle hum filled the air — a soft purr that vibrated against my fingertips. I brought it lower, the harmless little nub hovering just above my clit. I didn’t make contact — not yet. I just let the vibrations ripple through the air, a teasing promise that made my hips twitch in anticipation. God, the tension was exquisite — almost as good as the touch itself. Almost.
I finally let the humming motor make contact, a soft, dizzying pressure right on my most sensitive point. A sharp gasp ripped from my throat, echoing in the quiet room. My back arched off the bed. Yes. There. I held it still for a long moment, letting the sensation wash over me, a wave of pure, unadulterated focus. It wasn't enough to push me over, just enough to make every nerve ending stand at attention, screaming for more.
I began to move it in slow, deliberate circles, the vibrations setting every single one of my cells alight. My free hand wasn't idle. It roamed over my body, my fingers pinching and rolling a nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core, a direct line of electricity. I squeezed my own breast, imagining it was a lover's hand, firm and wanting. My breath hitched, coming in shorter, sharper pants.
But I wanted more. I needed to be filled.
I started to look into the mirror, to see how do I look right now. My skin glowed with it, my breath uneven, my thoughts a blur of need and curiosity. I met my own gaze in the glass, watching the rise and fall of my chest. I guided the vibraor to my entrance, which was already slick and aching with need. I pressed the tip against myself, and with a low moan, I pushed.
The feeling of being filled, of being stretched by the slow, relentless thrust of the toy, was utterly consuming. I pushed it in, retreated it, pushed it in again, a perfect, robotic rhythm that hit a spot deep inside me that made my vision blur at the edges. Oh god, right there. I watched the toy in and out of my body in the mirror, and got even more excited.
My other hand slid down my stomach, fingers finding my clit again, circling in time with the thrusts, amplifying the sensations into something unbearable and exquisite.
My moans were no longer quiet, they were shameless, ragged things that filled the empty apartment. I rutted against the toy, meeting its every movement with a desperate grind of my hips. The vibrations from the clit stimulator mixed with the deep internal pressure, creating a feedback loop of pleasure that was hurtling me toward a peak I knew would shatter me.
"F-fuck," I choked out, my voice raw and unfamiliar. My eyes were screwed shut, my world narrowed to this bed, to this feeling, to the thrum-thrum-thrust that was owning me completely. The pressure was immense, a universe of sensation condensed into this single point of my body. I was moaning, begging to an empty room, "Please, please, please…"
And then it broke.
The orgasm didn't crest, it exploded. It tore through me like a lightning strike, a white-hot wave of absolute ecstasy that locked my muscles and stole the air from my lungs. A broken, guttural cry was ripped from my throat as my body convulsed around the thrusting toy, milking it, shuddering with the aftershocks that just kept coming, and coming, and coming.
When the tremors finally faded, I sank back into the sheets, breathless and trembling, my body humming with quiet aftershocks. The night air drifted in through the open window, cool against my flushed skin, carrying the faint scent of rain. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm of my heartbeat settle calm. In that stillness, wrapped in the echo of my own heartbeat, I felt whole—weightless, free, and quietly, impossibly alive.
