I love my body. My body is extremely beautiful. My tits are ample and round and so sensitive. I’m not just grateful for the way they look but the way they feel, heavy and soft in my hands and tingling at even the lightest touch. My stomach and my legs are smooth and full too, gloriously mine and perfectly pretty from so many different angles.
I don’t feel arrogant saying these things, I feel powerful. Powerful because if you’d asked me a year ago how I felt about my body you’d have heard a very different answer.
I used to masturbate in the dark. Watching erotic films on a screen that cast an orange light over my naked body, I’d focus intently on the beautiful people having sex in front of me, trying to avoid glimpsing myself if at all possible. Closing my eyes at the moment of climax so I could picture myself in their place. Nowadays, I masturbate in front of a mirror. Not always watching porn, sometimes listening to it: headphones on, audio erotica telling me a horny story, focusing on my own body in the mirror in lieu of people on a screen. Taking note of the way that my nipples stretch out the fabric of my shirt or how my cunt glistens when I spread my legs. The curve of my stomach and hips, or the shudder in my thighs as I get closer to coming.
I used to masturbate in the dark, but now I love my body. Learning to adore it has been the most valuable sexual journey I’ve ever embarked on.
This time last year, I was in a terrible place. I was going through a period of intense sadness. Broke, post-break-up, feeling worthless: you probably know the drill. I think even the most optimistic among us hit these pockets of sadness every once in a while, but for me this one felt deeper than the funks I’d fallen into before. I wasn’t just unhappy, I was adrift. I’d lost my mojo. My self-worth. A good friend tried to help me out of the pit by setting me up with one of her friends, but the day after the date I cried on her because it had gone so badly. He’d been really keen, but I couldn’t meet him in that place. When he tried to kiss me at the end of the date I couldn’t do anything other than take a step backwards and shake my head. He must have thought I was so rude! I didn’t say ‘no’, or explain why I didn’t want to kiss him—I didn’t even know why. He was stunning. I just shook my head, choked with tears, unable to understand why this fabulous man might want me.
In truth, my body just wasn’t responding to him. I knew it wasn’t his fault—he was charming, sexy, respectful. The perfect gentleman. And yet for some reason I just couldn’t see myself stripping off and taking him to bed. That felt like such an impossible thing to do.
I expected my friend to hold me, which she did, and tell me comforting things about how it would get better, and she did that too, but what I hadn’t expected was what she did next…
She bought me a mirror.
A huge, ornate, beautiful mirror which arrived at my house a few days after I’d wept on her shoulder. She’d included a note:
Put this somewhere you will see it every day. Make yourself look into it. Every day. Clothed, naked, however you like: try to see your body, your face, your beautiful self. I promise you that in a few months’ time, you’ll see what the rest of us see—and you’ll realise you love it.
Obviously I didn’t believe her back then. But I do now.
It’s amazing what a change of perspective can do for you. It’s incredible how often we’re encouraged to see ourselves sexually only by comparing to others. We look at people in magazines and on TV and on Instagram, considering whether our own bodies meet the standards they’ve set. Why isn’t it the other way round? We look at the images we’re fed and ask whether we can ever live up to them, rather than turning a critical eye and asking: how does this live up to me?
So my friend sent me a mirror, and it’s changed my life. I recommend you try it yourself if you can. Go find the biggest, best mirror in your home and then sit in front of it—fully naked.
Don’t shy away from looking at yourself—make yourself stare. Take in the sight of your skin, the tones and colours, shadows and highlights. The curves of your flesh, at your hips and thighs and stomach of course, but in less often noted places too: the bulge of your upper arms, say, or the round sweep of your calves. Observe at your face. Look into your own eyes and note the depth within them. Make a few different expressions—pull the faces you have when you’re having sex, and try to get into the mind of the lovers who adore seeing you that way. Stare between your legs at the sight of your own sex, and recognise the power you have to make other people beg you for a taste of it.
I know, it sounds corny right now. And the first time you do it you’ll probably feel a bit odd. But it’s worth it, I promise. Let me show you why.
Today was just a normal day for me—me with my gorgeous body and pulsing, rock-solid lust. I settled in to listen to some audio porn. A nice little treat after a tough day at the office. I’d just thrown aside my laptop and taken off my tight work trousers and heels… and my knickers too, of course. Then I curled up on the sofa to listen to something smutty.
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Something about audio makes me slow down my pace when I’m masturbating. I like the idea of ‘storytime’—a set period during which everything else gets switched off, and I just enjoy the journey that the writer and reader are taking me on. For this one, I picked Wanton Lust by MK Elliott—a delicious forbidden lust story in which two coworkers give in to their intense hunger for each other and the convenience of a work trip with luxury hotel to… well… fuck each other with the kind of intensity that you simply have to grasp when opportunity arises. Lovely.
I wanted to really take my time with this erotic story, so I didn’t bring my vibrator straight away. First I put the headphones on and just let the words wash over me: touching myself in teasing, soft ways while I got to grips with the characters and their situation. As I mentioned before, I love my body. And one of the things I appreciate most about it is how responsive my breasts and nipples are. No sooner had I started stroking than my nipples were rigid against my shirt—the cotton pulling tight over the fullness of my tits, reminding me just how quickly I was getting turned on. But as I say, I wanted to take my time. No rushing. Running my palms over the flesh of my thighs, slowly opening buttons on my shirt, and closing my eyes to savour the mental images of Leanne and Michael—the pair of hot colleagues who couldn’t resist devouring each other in that hotel.
Before I loved my body, when I used to watch porn in the dark, I very rarely touched myself like this. Which might sound strange to you—after all, masturbation is all about touching yourself, isn’t it? What I mean is that I rarely touched my whole body like this. There’s a world of difference between masturbation with the sole focus of ‘getting off’ and masturbation in the more holistic sense—as a journey of self-love. Masturbation as a way to celebrate your body.
Undoing my shirt, button-by-button, it’s like I’m performing foreplay on myself. The words are filling my mind with images as my fingers deliver a concerto of sensation. When I stroke my thighs, I forbid myself from touching my clit just yet. Instead delivering feathery touches just around the edge of my vulva, causing the throb of need to intensify until I can feel myself yearning for more.
With every button of my shirt that comes undone, I ramp up the battle between my two inner selves—the one that urges ‘let me come now’ and the one which tells me to make it last and last.
In the story, Leanne and Michael aren’t playing for time, they’re straight into it. She’s on her knees slurping at his cock and he’s moaning and gripping her hair as she takes the full length of his perfect dick in her mouth. I bite my lip involuntarily, and then once more on purpose, imagining what it would be like to have someone’s cock in my mouth right now. Painting a scene in my head where I take Leanne’s place: kneeling at the feet of a handsome work colleague, and tasting him with my eager, wet tongue.
By this point my shirt is completely undone and it’s time to turn my attention to the picture that will turn me on further: myself. In the big mirror.
Looking to my right, I can glimpse myself as a lover might see me from the other end of the sofa. A firm hand on one of my breasts, the other slowly teasing my inner thigh, playful expression on my face to complement the whole picture. I smile a little and realise that this sight would be worth a fortune—worth the world—to any lover. The squirming curves of my body as I touch myself are a treat to watch. The characters in the story break off the blow job to kiss, and as they do that I put myself in their shoes—imagining that Leanne looks exactly like me.
I shift around a little, facing the mirror directly now. Legs parted so I can see the neat slit of my cunt. Gripping my tits, staring myself down almost in challenge, I turn this way and that and admire my naked form. You should do the same, please try it. Flirt with yourself the way you would try to entice a lover: note how daring you look when you raise an eyebrow or nibble on your bottom lip. Isn’t it strange that women are urged to show off our bodies for the pleasure of others, but scolded for vanity if we do it purely for ourselves? There’s no harm in this kind of vanity—the opposite, in fact. If you can sit naked in front of a mirror, satisfying yourself for satisfaction’s sake alone, you’re opening the door to far more joy in any sex you could ever have with someone else. Putting yourself in their shoes, and empathising with how and why they lusted after you in the first place.
See what I mean about the mirror? My friend was so right.
I pause the story briefly so I can go and grab my vibe. It’s a wand vibrator that I’ve had for a long time. It sat in a drawer gathering dust while I was feeling down, but as my self-esteem started growing, I thought of it more often. And then more frequently. Then multiple times each day. Until eventually, as I sat in front of the mirror prescribed to me by my friend, I wondered what I might look like while coming. The more I learned to love my body, the less ashamed I became of the idea of feeding it pleasure.
So today I head to the drawer and grab my vibrator and bring it back to the sofa where I can use it in full view of the mirror. Thankfully it is no longer a stranger to these kinds of outings, so I always make sure to keep it fully charged. Naturally, I don’t want to lose Leanne and Michael, so I hit ‘play’ on the audio the second I return, nudging the volume up slightly so their passion isn’t drowned out by the power of my wand.
As with my hands, so too with the toy: I start on my nipples first—letting that rumbling buzz stimulate the oh-so-sensitive peaks and shudder through my chest. I enjoy the sensations both for what they are in the moment and what they promise when I’ll eventually move the toy lower down. My skin thrills with the touch of it, and I can feel my flesh jiggle with vibrations, echoing down my body and making my clit pay fervent attention. Still teasing though, I rub the toy gently around the edges of my vulva, waiting for the right moment to place it on the centre line, where it will nudge me one step further up the ramp to orgasm. It’s all about patience. Making love to myself, rather than racing to a finish line.
To help with this, sometimes I try to copy, or half-copy, the actions of the characters as described through my headphones. When Michael rubs his cock along Lianne’s slit, that feels like the perfect moment to take the fat head of my wand and run it along the slit of my own pussy. Glancing in the mirror I can watch the moment it makes contact, and the way my gorgeous body gives a full shudder of approval.
And the noises. Oh yes, I make noises too. Back when I used to masturbate for function alone, I would rarely let myself utter so much as a gasp. Holding everything back and in, as if the things my body was doing were shameful rather than beautiful. Now, though, in full sight of myself and in total, uncomplicated love with myself too, I can let out sighs, moans, and squeals of pleasure exactly as I would if there were someone else beside me—or inside me. Except because I really am alone, these noises are even more valuable. My moans are not performative, they’re purely expressive. Making noises aloud heightens the sensations of the toy against my vulva, my hands gripping at my tits, and the full-body joy of what I am doing.
I lift one leg up and rest it on the back of the sofa, all the better to see my splayed legs and cunt framed in the reflective glass. Sometimes I close my eyes, more often I keep them open, enjoying every angle and detail—the folds of my pussy, the smooth mound, the way my bum is cupped sensuously by the velvet of the couch. Pressing the wand harder against my thudding clit, I’m getting closer to coming now. Trying to time it so that I come in tandem with Leanne in the story: that’s something I do with any porn, whether it’s a delicious visual feast or a sultry audio story. I always want to try and time my own climax with that of the other woman.
She’s getting close now, I can tell, so I turn up the power on my vibe, and the volume on the audio too so I can still hear over the rumbling and my own ecstatic squeals. I buck and writhe along in my solo fuck as Lianne gets fucked in the story. Pressing the head of the wand tightly against myself, the intensity of the vibrations is building and building until I’m almost ready to let myself go. But just one more thing before I do… I stand up.
Leaning against the wall for balance so I don’t collapse when I come, I press the head of the vibe good and hard against the spot just above my clit—not directly on it, but beside, so the earthquaking rumbles can target just the right place. Displaying the full length of my body in the mirror, glancing over so I can watch how tightly I’m gripping one of my breasts, fingers really digging in to the voluptuous sensitive flesh of it. Admiring the way my thighs give involuntary spasms when I rub the wand swiftly from side to side, or up and down. Delighting in my own skillful hands, that I use to keep myself right on the precipice as Michael and Leanne work up to the final fuckstroke of their amazing, forbidden hotel sex and then…
“That’s it,” the narrator says, and I know I have to come now. “That’s it, baby,” he urges, in Michael’s voice, “milk me, take my cum.”
And oh! The power of my orgasm almost makes my knees buckle. My legs start shaking and my thigh muscles tense—tight and formidable—as I ride out the waves of that shuddering climax. Pulse after pulse of gratification washes over me, turning my body into a lightning-rod of ecstasy. My weak limbs are now almost jelly, but it was worth it to do this last part standing: this way I could drink in the sight of every single inch of my naked form flushing with the purest pleasure there is.
As I said at the start, I used to masturbate in the dark. I used to see wanking as a means to an end. A way to bring myself a tiny kick of joy that could distract me from the rest of my day. I’d turn the lights off in the room, and shy away even from the occasional glimpses of my own body as illuminated by the screen. But thanks to my friend’s advice to really look atmy body: spend time in front of a mirror getting acquainted with it as something truly mine, I can no longer conceive of not loving it. All those times when I have watched myself come, listening to sexy stories or sometimes just recalling hot moments from my own past, I am now unable to look at my own naked form without flirting with it a little. It isn’t that I became sexy: I’ve always been sexy. I just didn’t realise that my body was one of the core things that made me so.
My body is objectively, inarguably, truly and utterly beautiful.
I still watch video porn too, of course. There’s plenty of joy to be had in watching scenes as well as hearing them. But these days I do it differently. Whether putting a video on to entertain myself on a night alone, enjoying a scene while being lapped at by a lover, or positioning ourselves so that we can fuck along to the action that’s happening on screen… these days I always watch ethical porn with the lights on.
All the lights, surrounded by as many mirrors as my one-bedroom flat will hold. My body is a vessel for joy. And I want to see as much of it as possible.
The End
Read all about the wonderful author: Girl On The Net
Great story !!!
Nice story. I think with self arousal and exploring, you are exploring who you are and what you need and make your more confident when your fantasy becomes real
I love sex
👀🧸
I like the sanctions when someone touch you