Making Do

God, he was lovely.

There was a steadiness in his movements, and a firmness in his hands when he pressed her down against the bed. And there was a building need in his hips as he ground over, and over into her. He pressed insistent against her very best inner places, rooting himself inside her. And soon, everything for her was sensation. Shivering, vibrant sensation.

Which is why she sweated frustration when she woke up alone, empty and oversexed, in a standard issue extra-long twin cot. Martha rubbed her fingers over her tired lids and then blinked rapidly, waiting for the digital clock beside her bed to come into focus.


This earned a small grunt. It was not unusual for her, to have dreams like these. Merely irksome. Because she never actually made it to orgasm in a dream for the same reason that she never died in a nightmare; her increased heart rate would simply wake her up in the nick of time. And so here she sat in bed, chest pounding, adrenaline prickling her skin—tense from the waist down for the concept of a man already half faded from her conscious.

Achingly aroused, she grasped at every image from her dream that her waking memory could cling to. He had been…hot. And, pounding, fingernails in hips, that spot…She slipped a hand beneath the band of her pajama pants and sought out the dampness of her sex, finger strokes short and wistful. That spot…fingernails in hips, harder, and…and…Oh fuck it all. This wasn’t going to work without a cock.

She glanced back up at the clock by her bed. 2:02AM.
She had class at 9 the next morning.

Martha chewed her lip and weighed her options. She would just have to be quick, maybe. Riled as she was, sleep wasn’t going to come unless she did.

Shifting a little, she peeked at her dorm mate curled up on the cot a few steps away. The girl certainly appeared to be asleep. And Martha was fairly sure that she could keep quiet.

Reluctantly she pulled her hand away from herself, wiping her wet finger on her thigh as she slipped out of bed as silently as she could manage. Her eyes didn’t leave that dark huddle on the cot across from her as she picked her way over the mess of laundry and text books surrounding her bed. Not looking lead to a stubbed toe, of course, and she hopped the remaining way to her desk while her mind burst into a mess of vehemently unspoken expletives. It strained her self control to avoid making an ill-tempered racket with the desk drawers as she searched their contents.

Martha didn’t actually own a dildo. Her particular sexual proclivities had led her to invest her work-study wages in a pair of hand cuffs and a roll of duct tape before she even considered insertables. She owned a vibrator, of course. But it was a noisy buzzing thing, and she saved it for special occasions when her roommate wasn’t present. And so looking through her drawers, she simply wanted something washable and phallic that no one besides her would ever have to use.

Non-cap end of a Sharpie?
Too small.
Non-cap end of a highlighter?
Rough edges, that would be unpleasant. She closed that drawer and opened another, thighs rubbing together with impatience.
Knobbily shaped nail polish cap?
Smaller than the Sharpie.
A pen with a toy maraca as its topper—decent end girth, decent overall length.

She examined it and frowned. She’d received it as a goofy birthday present in a 9th grade Spanish class. Profaning the thing over a spur-of-the-moment need to cum seemed a little messed up…Maybe if she couldn’t find anything else.
Drum stick, no. Bubble wand, no. No, no, dear lord no, no, no, oh hell.

The bottom drawer contained nothing inspiring, and it was with fading hope and libido that she squinted through the dark of her room to look for something else.
There, on her shelf. A hair brush.

Martha picked it up and gripped the handle in her palm, feeling it for texture, examining for any bits that might prove uncomfortable. 6-ish inches, decent girth, a bit wider at the middle than the beginning or the base, a bit of give in the rubber bits of the handle…This would do.

She glanced once more at her roommate and stepped more carefully back into bed, trying to rustle the covers as little as possible as she slid back under them and pulled them up to her chin.

He was hot.

She slid her shirt up over her torso, pulling it only as far as her sheets covered her. Her fingers skimmed over her belly, and hips, and up to her breasts. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to recall the contents of her dream.
Burning, and he ached for her too. She tweaked a nipple and bit her lip.

Fingernails in hips, pounding, that spot…fingernails, thick, rough fingers…She gave her nipple a harder pinch before her thumbs both slid down under her pajama pants, shimmying them over her hips down to her knees. She glanced with fleeting nerves at her roommate. Sleeping solidly still.

Hot. Hot in the way his wide hands left their burning prints on her ass, stinging, overlapping, fingerprints wrapping just barely over the curve of her hip She slipped a finger between her nether lips and circled her clit, embellishing the thought with a few choice memories of ex-lovers.

And his hands would feel impatient as he grabbed over those still-stinging fingerprints, nails digging into her hips as he pulled her off of her stomach and onto all fours. Her fingers settled above her bud and worked quicker, smaller circles as she pushed her pants further down to her ankles, and then kicked them off altogether, knees spreading under her covers.

He would knock her knees apart, growling threats of awful, Don’t you move, awful obscene things, You just lift that ass and don’t move, over the jingle and zip of his belt and fly…Don’t fucking budge…yes…

Her back obediently arched, and her hand groped about for the brush she’d put down, closing on it and then hurriedly bringing it down to graze teasingly over her slit. Another glance at her roommate. Still clear.

Martha closed her eyes and pushed herself down onto the handle, just engulfing the tip. His palm would land with a loud crack on the left cheek of her ass, while his other hand pressed between her shoulder blades and shoved her chest-down into the mattress, her head spinning, the head of his cock so close, hot against her slit, teasing, Did I say you could have me, slut?

No, no, no…she mouthed silently.

Nails digging into her hip, he would pull her back onto him as he thrust forward, hips slapping against her rear, the hand between her shoulder blades pushing her down further still, forcing her ass higher, as she cried out,

Martha bit down on her lips, eyes opening briefly to re-assess the roommate situation as she choked back any actual sound. She eased the brush handle back out of herself, pushing herself on it more slowly this time, grinding, savoring,

pounding, harder, Is this what you want? Is this what you’re spreading your legs for? He was riding her more roughly now, thrusts growing harder and shorter as he grabbed her hair at the root and turned her face into the sheets, muffling the whimpers and yips she made,

She was building a rhythm, now, and she allowed herself a shuddering exhale as warmth gathered in her belly and pushed her ever closer to the edge she had awakened on. She shoved once, especially deep, on the brush, and her cot quietly creaked.

His voice husked, Then spread them wider, pounding, harder, You wanted this, nails digging into her hip, Harder, she ground, she panted, he ground, just perfect, that spot…So come for me you beautiful whore, harder, gripping her, yes, Yes, she mouthed and arched as the warmth in her belly overwhelmed her. She forced herself deeply onto her improvised toy and grit her teeth as she came, riding out her orgasm with slowly rolling hips. One exhalation escaped her in a shivering whine.

He was hot…

She had broken into a slight sweat, and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand as her pussy twitched around the brush handle, her lust half-sated.

She looked at her roommate, then the clock. 2:08AM Half-sated would have to do.
Reluctantly she eased herself off of the handle, digging around under the covers for her pants before she left the safety of her covers. She wrapped her brush handle in a tissue, tip-toeing quickly to the communal bathroom where she would be able to wash it off in a sink.

He was lovely.
She slipped through the door He was…and closed it quietly behind her.

Class tomorrow at 9, did most of the reading, one page left, still goddamn horny, She peeked around the bathroom. No one was in here tonight, at this hour. Can probably finish that page before class, mostly done, still goddamn…

The water sputtered once before spilling steadily over the brush handle, and she lathered the thing in liquid soap as she watched the remnants of her own wetness wash into the drain.
…would have to do.

4 comments on “Making Do

  1. For the longest time, in my youth, I was a devoted purchaser of a certain brand of deodorant that will go unnamed, specifically because of its perfectly shaped packaging. This piece made me laugh. Still, I’m glad I never had to share a bathroom with anyone.

    • Hah! I love what sorts of sexy MacGuyvering people can manage in absence of other masturbatory aids. Gives me a little faith in our creativity as a species. Glad you enjoyed the piece. 🙂

  2. RalfMaximus says:

    Holy god. I need to take a break now.

    Yeah, a break. *groannn*

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