I had one job. One simple fucking job.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
There I was, finally alone after the longest week of my life. Roommate gone for the weekend. No surprise visitors. Phone on silent. I’d been edging toward madness since Monday, every failed attempt at privacy leaving me slick and aching between my thighs.
I didn’t waste time. Kicked the door shut, yanked my jeans down, panties following in one graceless hop. Cool air kissed my overheated pussy, and I sighed, my clit already swollen, already demanding. My hand found the vibrator in the nightstand drawer, that familiar curved weight settling into my palm.
This was it. My moment.
I sprawled across my bed, legs falling open, and pressed the button.
The buzz filled the room, steady and low. I brought it between my legs, slick silicone sliding through my wetness, nudging my entrance. I eased it in, the stretch opening me, my inner walls gripping the curve. It dragged across my G-spot, and I gasped, my free hand diving for my clit.
God, yes. The vibrations rippled deep, my pussy clenching around the toy as I settled into rhythm. Slow thrusts. The curve pressing that aching spot with each stroke while my fingers circled my clit. My hips rolled into it. My thighs quivered.
Heat coiled low in my belly, tightening with each thrust. My breath came short and ragged. Almost there. The tension wound through my core, my cunt fluttering.
Then it stopped.
The vibrator went dead inside me.
“No.” I clenched around the lifeless toy, jabbed the button. Nothing. “No, no, no, no!”
I sat up, the vibrator still buried in my pussy, staring at my traitorous hand on the controls. My cunt throbbed around the silent silicone, swollen and furious. My whole body screamed at the injustice.
Dead battery.
And that’s when I remembered.
Last Saturday. Post-orgasm, boneless. Pulling the toy out and staring at the charging cable on my nightstand. The thought drifted through my sex-drunk brain: I should really charge this. But I was comfortable, limbs heavy and satisfied, and plugging it in meant moving.
“Eh,” past me had mumbled into my pillow, “that’s future me’s problem.”
Future me was now.
“You absolute bitch,” I hissed at the memory of myself. “You, lazy bitch.”
I flopped back on the bed, the vibrator still inside me, caught between tears and hysterical laughter. My pussy ached, clenching around the useless toy. My clit pulsed, swollen and furious. A week of slick heat and stolen moments, and my own post-orgasm complacency undid me.
I pressed the button again. A quick buzz stuttered through my inner walls, lasted three seconds, and died.
But three seconds.
I pressed again. Another burst flickered against my G-spot. Dead.
Again. Bzzz. Nothing.
A horrible, desperate idea took shape.
I could make this work. I had to make this work. If I timed it right, matched my fingers to those pathetic spurts…
“Okay.” I settled back, focus sharpening. “Okay, you want to play games? Let’s fucking play.”
I adjusted my grip on the vibrator, angling it into place. My other hand dropped back to my clit, fingers already slick. I pressed the button.
Bzzz. Three seconds of deep vibration. I drove the toy deeper, my fingers quickening over my clit. Dead.
Button. Buzz. The sensation rippled against my G-spot. My fingers circled faster, chasing it. Dead.
Button. Buzz. I pushed into it harder, the curve catching that aching spot. Dead.
“Come on, come on.” Button. Buzz. My rhythm locked in, pleasure building in jagged spurts. Dead.
It was maddening. Every dying vibration left me higher, hungrier. My thighs shook. My breath came harsh and ragged. Sweat slicked my spine.
Button. Buzz. I dragged the toy along my G-spot, my fingers slipping through my wetness. Dead.
Button. Buzz. My pussy clenched around the curve, my clit pulsing under my touch. Dead.
“Please.” Button. Buzz. Heat crested low in my belly, so close. Dead.
My frustration sharpened into something clean and focused. Nothing existed except my cunt, the toy buried inside me, my fingers on my clit, and that fucking button.
Button. Buzz. My back arched. Dead.
Button. Buzz. A whimper tore from my throat. Dead.
Button. Buzz. I drove the toy deeper, faster, desperate and graceless. My fingers, chasing my clit with brutal efficiency. Dead.
Button. Buzz. The vibrations struck my G-spot just as my fingers found the perfect pressure. Dead.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Button.
Bzzz.
My pussy seized the vibrator, my back snapping off the bed. The orgasm didn’t crest—it tore through me, each pulse driving deeper than the last. My thighs clamped down on my hand, shaking hard. One last dying buzz and I screamed, the sound raw and animal, as my cunt kept spasming, wringing itself empty.
My fingers wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. Dragging every vicious aftershock out of me until I was sobbing. The desperate struggle sharpened it, every failed buzz winding me tighter until I unraveled all at once.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” My voice broke, hips jerking against my hand. My pussy clenched around the dead toy, still pulsing. Heat spilled down my thighs in jagged shudders that left me gasping.
I collapsed, chest heaving, the vibrator still buried in me, completely wrecked.
Worth it. God, so worth it.
When I could breathe again, I drew the toy out, held it up, saluted it with my middle finger, and plugged it in.
Past me could go fuck herself.
