If you had told me a year ago that I’d be standing in a cubicle, shaking uncontrollably with desire as wave after wave of pleasure rushed to every extremity, I’d have laughed. That’s not me. I’m not the type of person you’d find trying to muffle their moans while jingle bell rock plays through the bathroom speakers. I’m the last person you’d suspect to run from the table and beg for permission to let go. And yet, there I was.

The lead up to Christmas is the perfect time to let loose - surrounded by merriment, the drinks are free flowing; who wouldn’t succumb to a little hedonism? I say this because I can’t fathom any other reason why I’d reach for the vibrator as I dressed. I’d been busy in the kitchen, prepping for the big day itself, when the first text came into the group chat. An invite. A quick drink. A chance to escape the sugary sweet candy canes I’d been pounding away at, all in aid of a perfectly dressed martini glass.

It was inevitable that I’d say yes. I wasn’t about to turn down a moment away from the never ending to do list with a few close friends. I put down my rolling pin and headed for the shower, aiming for a quick turnaround. As always, my mind was washed into the gutter by the strength of the water. As the steam rose around my head, my hand ventured further south, wanting to tease out a little pleasure in those few moments. But alas, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was missing.

Coming out of the shower, I grabbed some oil and my favorite body cream, massaging the glorious concoctions into my skin. As I worked my way up from my toes to my thighs to my shoulders, I was on fire. A few days prior, I’d been lost in the sheets on the other side of town, held at the mercy of a man. He’d hit all the right buttons to switch my mind off - leaving me a quivering mess beneath him as I begged him to fuck me one moment, then to pause the next. He knew what was best, as he always did, and pushed through my pleading. There was no way I could achieve that level of pleasure alone, not when my skin still held the memory of his every touch.

I wasn’t thinking when I pulled it from its little black bag, nor when I slipped it between my thighs. As I pulled my panties to one side, my mind was empty. I was a slut on a mission. I was already wet as it slipped gracefully inside me, the little neck pressed against my clit. When I turned it on, the reassuring buzz let me know I was all set. Either way, I was going to have a side of adventure with my glass of bubbles.

I’d bought the vibrator on a whim. A brief discussion with someone I thought to be a stranger brought it into my possession. He’d always wanted to try one, and I wasn’t averse to the idea. Until that moment, we’d only used it a few times. He’d send me to the bar for drinks and watch as I squirmed while placing an order. It was sexy, trying to hold some level of decorum as I carried them back to the table - the best kind of foreplay that led to all kinds of debaucherous acts back in his bedroom.

But this wasn’t the same. There was no promise of his touch to follow. There was no guaranteed response at all. It wasn’t preplanned; it wasn’t an arrangement we had discussed. It was just me - a wanton slut begging for him to make me orgasm from the other side of the continent. I hadn’t really thought it through until I left the house. As I walked up the road toward the pub, I sent the link out in a text.

Would he respond? Would he be too busy to play with his fucktoy from afar? Fortunately, the stars aligned, and he responded in no time at all. That was enough to get me started. It took a few moments to sort out the logistics, but soon enough, he had taken control of my body. The journey was a glorious form of torture in its own right. Just as he hit the sweet spot of vibrations, my quickening pace would move the toy from its perfect position. By the time I got to the table and started removing layers of knitwear, my panties were damp, and I could barely control my breath.

It didn’t take long for a glass of wine to arrive, and I tried my very best to stay focused on the conversation. All the while, he was playing with my pussy, playing with my mind - both the most welcomed and most frustrating distraction on that December evening.

I could barely hold myself together and kept him informed with brief messages as I tried to contribute something to the conversation. It didn’t take long before he ordered me to find a quiet corner, and I wasted no time excusing myself from the table.

That’s how I ended up in the bathroom, leaning against the door as he sent me over the edge. In that moment, I would have done anything he asked - I was his whore, his slut, his plaything. All I wanted was his hand around my throat and his cock deep inside me. And he knew it. He played me like an instrument and teased out my first-ever orgasm in a public bathroom.

It took more than a moment to regain composure. I was flustered and walking like a baby deer. I looked deeply into the eyes of the slut staring back at me in the mirror, and I could see she was sated (at least temporarily). My pussy was still quivering from the excitement as I headed back to the table, unable to rid myself of the stupid smile that had spread across my face.

Luckily, I passed it off as the result of a wholesome Christmas message. No one was aware that moments before, I’d been swept away by an ocean of pleasure. It was our little secret, and I couldn’t wait to experience it again.