The Malfunction

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Do refer to my essay “My Little Problem” in the Reviews and Essays Category for a brief introduction to me and my problem!

Let me first welcome you to Singapore.

(Now here begins the shameless plug for my country, the shameless patriot I am. And you will find that I’m not just a shameless patriot, I’m generally shameless.) Singapore, for your information, is a tropical cosmopolitan wonderland. It is concrete and glass and steel against lush greenery and sandy beaches. There are no slums and ghettos – even the poor and the impoverished own homes and luxuries like air-conditioning and mobile phones. Singapore had, or more accurately, still has a reputation of being a benign and kindly socialist dictatorship, where censorship is rife and freedom of speech is controlled.

But we’re learning to open up. Slowly, but surely, we’re becoming more and more open and our laws are relaxing – I should know – I’m a lawyer. These days, there’s an electrifying current of sexual freedom running underneath society’s skin, an air of repressed sexuality flowing under the thin veneer of civility. Illicit lovers in the office exchange glances of irrepressible lust, and sweaty palms cup butt cheeks and undo bra-straps in corner offices. People stare at each other hungrily, with the anticipation of a predator. They imagine tearing off each other’s clothes and going at it right there and then in their office cubicles.

I’m doing some reading in my office (I’ve just been given a junior partnership – who says sucking up to your boss and maybe sucking off your boss doesn’t work? I’m a firm believer in sleeping to the top. In the male-dominant environment of power play, a woman has to wield her own weapons, and in my case, my body. Anyway, I casino şirketleri digress – these are stories for the future.) I’m doing my reading and answering my email and pretending to be interested in what my secretary is telling me. She’s looking at me strangely, because I’m breathing a little heavily and am getting a little bit flushed. That’s because I’m surfing porn at the same time, and there’s my next best friend stuck deep in me and he’s vibrating on low. And I’m also writing this confessional.

Thanks to the new relaxed laws, a few new sex shops have opened, and I no longer have to pay a delivery fee when I buy my little toys. The man in the shop where I now frequent, who is very nice and very, very skilled in cunnilingus and masterful and full of advice, advised me not to use it for more than 30 minutes at a go and to let it cool down for 15 minutes every half-hour. That’s to protect the circuitry so that the mechanism won’t overheat and burnout too quickly, and thus make my next-best friends last longer. I told him I earned five times the rent of his shop a month, and could afford more friends for my stable, or more accurately, drawer. He shut up. So fuck it, I say. I use them the whole fucking day now.

Previously, Clitorial control on Literotica told me that the key to solving my problem of a hypersensitive clit was to have more intense sexual experiences and therefore numb my clit into submission. He was right and wrong. I found the key was to move focus from my clit to my G-spot.

A vibrator set on low can last about 5 hours non-stop with an Energizer battery before it needs a change of batteries. If set on high, about 2 hours. If it gets kind of hot and uncomfortable inside me, out it goes. I don’t want casino firmaları to injure myself. But a vibrator set on low is perfect for me – it gives me an amazing buzz and keeps me horny and focused, while not strong enough for me to orgasm. But sometimes, just sometimes, something funny happens.

I was in a morning meeting with the other partners, listening to incredibly boring details of the firm’s fourth quarter earnings, thinking horny thoughts about my boss, when the my 6-inch vibrator in me died. I surreptitiously snuck a hand below the table, and under my skirt. I moved the chair closer towards the large oval table self-consciously. Everyone was pretending to pay attention to the boss. No one was looking. So I slipped my hand under my leather thong (They’re dildo thongs – but I altered them so that there’s a hole around my clitoris so that my little problem clit won’t get continually stimulated into mind-blowing, awesome and also public orgasms.) I tried tweaking the dial through the thong. Not working. Tweak a bit more. Twiddle a bit. My finger brushed against my hypersensitive clitoris and I gasped involuntarily. Just a small gasp – no one paid any attention to it.

Then all hell broke loose under the table. The vibrator jerked to life and kicked into high, and the buzzing was loud enough to hear audibly. People looked around, looking for the culprit. A vibrating phone, set on silent mode. Whose was it? I was struggling to control. Focus. Focus. Yoga. Control the contractions. Control. Those Kegel exercise don’t help at all in controlling an orgasm. Fuck. The contractions came. I was breathing heavier and heavier – all eyes seemed to be on me. The room warped and spun. I put both hands onto the table and looked at güvenilir casino the projection screen. I took deep breaths. Wait it out. The battery will die. The battery will die. When did I last change it? This morning before breakfast? It’ll die. Breathe. Breathe.

I bit my lip down and stared at the glass of water in front of me. I stared at my notes – nothing. No help. God help me it was coming, and coming literally. I nearly bit my tongue in two. Now all eyes were looking at me as I began to shake a little bit, all my muscles contracting.

“I don’t like any disturbances in my meeting.” The boss said. Everyone WAS staring at me. Fuck buddy 6 told me later at lunch that I looked like I was having a fit.

I stood up on shaky legs. I willed myself not to collapse. My knees were trembling. So was my voice when I whispered out: “Excuse me.”

I stumbled out of the boardroom and into the office, taking the associates, the juniors and all the rest of the cubicle people by surprise. Their stares followed me as I half tripped, half ran to the toilet and threw myself into a cubicle. I bit my sleeve and groaned as I frigged myself off to completion and exploded in orgasm. I slumped in the toilet seat as my climax dissipated and I removed real culprit, wet and shiny and finally dead. It must have drowned in my pussy juices – I wasn’t sure if it was the waterproof one. I threw it away. I steadied my breathing and washed my face. It was still flushed.

I knocked, and re-entered the boardroom. All heads turned and a silent demand for an explanation led me to say:

“I had an asthma attack.”

Sympathetic clucks and head nodding were an acknowledgement of my predicament. The boss looked a bit concerned and asked about my health. The next time we fucked he was a lot gentler and kept asking if I felt okay – I guess he didn’t want me to die on him. That was the last time I brought one of my best friends into a board meeting. Well, at least it wasn’t court.

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