Aphrodesiac

You grab a knife from the kitchen and slice open the tape on the package. Opening it carefully and digging through a small mound of styrofoam packing material, you find a small something wrapped carefully in gauze and tissue. You gently unravel the gauze, and find a strange bottle of perfume.

The perfume itself is contained in a multifacted crystal decanter. Both the decanter itself and the stopper are quite ornate. Also wrapped up with it is a small aerator, which seems to fit into the decanter once the stopper is removed. Inside the decanter is a translucent liquid with a slight rose tint. There is no label on the bottle, or anywhere on the box containing it, nor any note providing information as to whom sent you this package.

You unstopper the decanter and take a whiff of the liquid inside. The smell is overpowering when sampled so directly, and almost burns your nostrils. You remember, a little ashamedly, how a lady should properly smell perfume, and put the aerator into the decanter to spray some on your wrist. On your skin, the smell is easier to identify, and it reminds you very much of lilacs. You spray a couple of spritzes on your neck as well, and the smell encases you in a dreamlike sheath.

Applying perfume from such an ornate receptacle makes you feel like a movie star. Replacing the aerator with the stopper, you carry the perfume back to your bedroom, where you put the decanter on your dresser. You feel like a million dollars, and decide to dress up to the occasion. You strip off your t-shirt, returning to the buff, and pull out your favorite lingerie, a lacey low cut black bra and matching thong. You slip the two articles of clothing on to your body, fish some earrings out of your jewelry drawer, and put on a pair of high heels. You strut your stuff over to the full length mirror in the bathroom, and admire your reflection.

As you gaze at yourself, you find that the moist warmth of arousal that the delivery man aroused has swollen to a molten burning. Your realize that your mouth is very dry, and that your skin is tingling all over your body, but especially so in all the sensitive locations -- your fingertips, your lips, your nipples, and your clitoris. You gulp down a glass of water from the sink in the bathroom, but it does little to alleviate the dryness in your mouth. Meanwhile, the tingling of your body grows stronger, as if your entire body had "fallen asleep" from lack of blood supply, and is just now waking up. In the sensitive locations, the tingling feels like an **** itchiness.

You bend over to place the glass back on the sink, and the movement of fabric against your nipples and shorn vulva sends tremors through your body. You experimentally slip a hand inside your bra and lightly squeeze your nipple between your index and middle fingers. The sensory response is so intense that you gasp, your entire body momentarily stunned into motionlessness. The tingling in each nipple grows stronger, a burning itchiness that demands to be satiated. You cross your arms, rubbing each nipple through your bra. Even that muted touch is enough to excite your nipples, and enough to keep your body writhing in pleasure.

Slowly, you become aware that you are rubbing your legs together, attempting to quench the growing burning between them, but that it is not enough. Your entire vagina burns like a pillar of fire inside you, with your clitoris a white ball of concentrated heat. You slip a hand inside your thong, and run your fingers through the groove of your outer labia, working your way up towards your clit. At the first touch of your rhythmically stroking fingers against your throbbing clitoris, you convulse violently, your knees buckling, and practically lose your balance on your precarious high heels and fall to the floor. You drop your other hand to the bathroom counter to steady yourself, and slumped against it, your stroke yourself in earnest. Each pull of finger against flesh elicits an explosion of heat within your gut, as you cry out and moan in primal, wordless utterances.

You are so aroused that you can only slowly become aware that you have already orgasmed by the growing sensitivity of your clitoris and nipples. The stroking, while still intensely pleasurable, brings with it also a hint of pain, and you pull your hand out of your thong, placing it next to the other on the counter, trying to steady yourself as your body continues to shake and tremble. Each vibration seems to soothe your burning body slightly, reducing the itch to a tingle and eventually to quiet.

The utter silence of the house is broken by the clear, quiet announcement of the doorbell.