Free Gagged by Aubrey Parker Page A

who’s infiltrated my thoughts all day, and had the gall to drop a vibrator off on my doorstep: a command, a gift, a prescription.  
    Do you own a vibrator? For therapeutic reasons, I mean.
    Who says something like that? He didn’t even know us. He really didn’t know me . I was just some girl who accosted him in a coffee shop. He doesn’t know me from Eve, except that he sure seemed to know me just fine. We weren’t even talking about anything remotely sexual — not that that would have been okay if we had been. I was in the middle of yelling at him for his obstinance while he played with us, and somehow he decided that made it okay to ask me about my sex life — or total and complete lack thereof.  
    What a total asshole.
    I’ll bet he shouts at women when he has sex with them. Tells them exactly what to do. They’re probably not allowed to have orgasms because it’s all about him. He probably puts them into position then takes his dick out. The next thing you know, he’s sticking it wherever he wants: in her mouth, inside her, just worrying about getting off.  
    My hand slides over my panties, cupping the place between my legs. I never do this. But there’s no question that’s the trigger point behind all my aching, not a potential source of more pain later like in the past. If my hand stays where it shouldn’t be, my headache will improve. I’ll be able to sleep. My back will probably stop aching.  
    But really: Thinking of Caspian White?
    Inside my head, Caspian says, Touch yourself, Aurora. For therapeutic reasons, I mean .  
    My finger moves to the cleft, pressing the sensitive spot through my panties. I breathe in. There’s no question that’s the problem right there. That spot exactly.  
    Inside your panties, Aurora. With my cock in your mouth. And I’ll make you a deal: I won’t come in your mouth until you come first.  
    I’m about to slip the first of my fingers below the elastic when a car’s brakes squeak outside. My eyes pop open, and reality returns. I want to do this. It’s nobody’s business if I do. My door is closed; Jasmine is asleep; even if it surprises me and I cry out again, my mother won’t come in and catch me, shocked and ashamed, and hand me over to my father for punishment.  
    I’m twenty-three. I’m an adult. There’s something wrong with a virgin my age. And people my age who can’t bring themselves to masturbate when they feel like it? People who are afraid to and haven’t done so since the age when orgasms first became possible? Well, those people are truly screwed up.  
    Fuck it.  
    I slide out of bed and go to the hallway bathroom, past Jasmine’s room. She sleeps like a brick, but I still stop and listen after I flush the toilet and the water stops running. Then I pad down to the kitchen and listen again. I open the fridge and close it. If she comes out now, I can say I’m getting a snack. But I wake in the middle of the night all the time and can count the number of times I’ve run into Jasmine — or heard her stir — on zero hands.
    On cue, I hear snoring from the front bedroom.  
    The door is beside the fridge. I turn the thumb lock slowly, followed by the knob. The offending item is right on top. I don’t even have to take the pretty white box with the flower tangled in its bow. The black-and-chrome vibrator is right there, right on top, not even returned to its inner box.
    I slip it out. Touching it, I feel a charge. My pussy tingles like a kid realizing she’s going to be allowed that special treat after all. I feel devious. The house is so quiet, it’s like I’m a thief stealing what was mine to begin with.  
    I stuff the paper down around the box then push the box a bit farther down in the garbage can. I slip the vibrator into my pocket then decide to empty the kitchen trash. I actually manage to do it without waking Jasmine, and two minutes later Caspian’s gift box isn’t even visible in the can. We’re done with that bullshit.