2

Sienna

Slowly, I make my way up the stairs before letting myself into my bedroom. I haven’t re-decorated much since childhood, so I still have my pink ruffled bedspread on a white wicker twin frame. There are pictures of ponies on the walls because I used to be really into horses. There are also a couple blue ribbons from when I used to play soccer, although these days, I don’t get much exercise.

It’s not that I hate exercise. It’s just that as a curvy girl, a lot of sports are awkward. I tried to do yoga when the craze began, but it was difficult because the yoga studio was really crowded, and everyone had only a two by three foot space to stretch in. With my generous assets, I felt like I was constantly intruding into the space of the women next to me.

Running was difficult too. My boobs, my thighs, and my bottom bounce with every step I take. I tried wearing two control-top bras at once paired with the heaviest, sturdiest Spanx running shorts I could find, but it was no use. I’m just too large, and it felt like my curves were flying out of control even though I was doing nothing more than a slow jog.

I know there are other sports I could try: rock-climbing, skiing, and ice-skating have been suggested to me. But how would that work? I’d be a ball rolling down the slopes, or a huge slug trying to climb two feet off the ground. It would be embarrassing, and I’m too ashamed to try.

As a result, I don’t exercise. Well, I do, but now I stick to a few stretching routines in the privacy of my room. It works though. I’m reasonably toned in my belly and thighs, even if they’re still generous. Plus, the malnourished, stick-thin look has never appealed to me. I’ll take my big booty over a flat pancake ass any day.

But now, I have this delightful toy gifted to me by my dad, of all people. I shut the door to my room, although there’s no need since no one is home. Then, I open the box and pull out the egg and the remote. How does this work again? Oh right, there’s an instruction pamphlet.

I dig the brochure out of my pocket and stare at the crumpled piece of paper. Drat, these things are always written in such fine print that I have to squint at the directions. Blah, blah, blah, turn on your phone and download an app, blah. Okay, that’s easy enough. I reach for my phone and look up the manufacturer’s site. Then I download the app, and a green welcome screen greets me.

“Hello Sienna!” the words read. Wait a minute, how did the egg know my name? I figure it must be my dad’s doing.

The screen flickers to the next page, and my eyes track the words.

“Thank you for purchasing the Sexy Slave Wireless Egg. With this egg, you will be able to control your pleasure with just the touch of a button. No cords needed!”

Hmm, very interesting. I suppose wires might get in the way of some self-love, so wireless is an advantage. Impatiently, I click the rest of the way through the manufacturer’s installation program, and soon, I’m ready to go. In fact, I don’t even need the remote now that I have the app loaded on my phone. I’ll be able to control everything with just a few taps from my cell.

With a sly smile, I walk over to my bed and slip my shirt off my shoulders, revealing huge Double D breasts. Then I unzip my jeans and squeeze them off my hips so that I’m wearing nothing but tiny pink panties and a matching bra. I’m alone actually, so I might as well go for it. I disrobe entirely so that the bra and panties lie on the floor before climbing onto my bed. My pink and cream curves tremble with anticipation as I lie back.

Oooh, this is going to be fun. Experimentally, I slip the egg into my mouth, getting it warm and lubed up. It feels spongy, yet also solid at the same time. My tongue circles gently around the smooth orb, and I picture this going into my sweetest spot. It’ll feel good, that’s for certain.

Then leaning back, I raise my knees so that my feet come off the mattress. My pink slit is bared, and to my surprise, I’m already wet although I haven’t touched down there yet. Mmm, this is definitely a good gift because it’s such a turn-on. I’m going to have to thank Tyler the next time I see him.

Slowly, I reach down, and with tentative fingers, I press the egg against myself. It slips into my small hole easily, my pink lips encasing the tiny orb. It feels good and I moan musically, my eyes fluttering shut. I feel warm and stretched, and it’s about to get better.