Being the person I am, this is a pretty normal state of affairs (pun most FULLY intended) for me.
I find that my hand or toys can be, on some days, woefully inadequate.
(we buy batteries from the giant A by the case, in all seriousness.)
In the past my drive was often linked to my cycle, despite the DP injections, and to put it simply, there was a week or so every month when I could and would be pretty wild. Some of the most intense stories I posted here took place during those weeks.
Since my recent extended illness I have experienced a HUGE, constant increase in my sex drive/libido.
My beloveds have opined that my current state is a survival response.
I can't say, myself. What I know is that I am in a constant state of sexual anxiety and turmoil. I find myself constantly daydreaming, performing subtle self stimulation, touching myself through and sometimes under my clothes during meetings, phone calls, and fantasizing about other people, mostly strangers, to the point of having to wear cotton undies (still thongs though) and placing a towel beneath me in my office chair.
I am not, and cannot be, the woman I was 10 years ago. I can't randomly hook up with casual acquaintances or strangers anymore.
Long gone are the days of giving the pizza delivery boy a quick blowjob, though the occasional "accidental" flash has been known to happen.
I am in a very stable marriage, a triad, that requires discretion on my part. And yes, I am the s in a D/s triad. (OK, if you want to be picky, I guess it's a D/D/s)
So I tease myself, bring myself to the edge over and over, time and again, stopping just short of orgasm. During a meeting I might slip my hand beneath my top to play with my nipple. Sometimes even between my legs.
What passes for propriety requires subtlety.
We practice orgasm denial on occasion, and I have learned how incredibly explosive these orgasms can be when they finally occur.
I will do this to myself, bringing myself to edge, keeping myself there while the FEDEX guy gets his signature, my hands trembling, biting my lip while admittedly staring with some longing at those buns as he leaves, then I reach down and bring myself to release.
One of these days he's going to hear me, or worse (better?) turn around and come back in as I cry and moan and pant my way to release with my head on my desk.
Best of all is when one or both of my Spouses hang the closed sign out and take me to our loft and to bed and we spend hours and hours in that bed.
I am the oldest, and it is with no small amount of happiness that I am able to leave them both sated and exhausted in our bed.
What was the question?
WW