Contest entry for Spanking the Monkey! For additional contest entries, please visit: www. Fanfiction . net / spankthemonkey4u

Title: First Go's

Name: Rhythm Junkie

Pairing: Solo Rosalie

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it.


I am Rosalie Damn Hale and I am not intimidated by my own vagina.

I repeat my mantra over and over, my brain on 'replay', as I climb the stairs to the bedroom I share with Emmett.

I am Rosalie Damn Hale and I am not intimidated by my own vagina.

I feel like I'm trudging to my death (so to speak) not heading upstairs for a spot of self-pleasuring.

I am Rosalie Damn Hale and I am not...

I pause in the doorway of my familiar bedroom because, truth? I'm intimidated by my own vagina. I get a vision of an AA meeting except it's full of women like me – well, not exactly like me obviously, I'm far hotter than most – standing in a circle and admitting, without fear of laughter, that they are quietly freaked out by their lady parts.

This is all Emmett's fault. Emmett and that damn thing he does with his tongue and the way he described exactly how he'd be doing it if I'd only let him get down between my...

My back goes rigid instinctively at the thought of anything down there that isn't Emmett's fingers or his love muscle. I sigh as my perfect memory (got to be grateful for some things in this life) reminds me just how good Emmett's love muscle feels between my...

No, no! I warily eye the full-length mirror the Alice installed in my bedroom after my 'intervention'. My reflection looks back, just as wary. This is stupid. I mean, how hard can it be? Even Edward's stupid human can do it. I shudder, remembering the hideous mewling I overheard on the nights it was my turn to keep an eye on the doe-eye'd danger magnet.

I will not be outdone by a dull-faced blood-bag damn it. I set my shoulders and march up to my new mirror, slamming the bedroom door behind me. I glare at my reflection. It glares back. Bitch. I consider shucking up my dress and doing it that way, quick and without looking, but Alice was adamant that I had to 'do it properly'. Stupid seer.

I hover a little, the feeling of being unsure of myself completely foreign to me. This is Emmett's fault. Have I mentioned that? Emmett and his "Rosie, there's nothing about you that isn't beautiful and your cookie won't be an exception". Emmett and his "Rosie, your pookie smells so damn good, won't you let me have just a little taste?". Emmett and his ganging-up on me and my vagina; with Alice no less.

Alice. My face automatically twists into a sneer at the thought of that irritating little pixie tramp. I clench my teeth and start undressing. Damn Alice and her graphic descriptions of just how good it feels to become intimately acquainted with my downstairs area. Damn Alice and her graphic descriptions of just how it good it feels when someone's tongue becomes intimately acquainted with my downstairs area. Damn Alice and her...

Oh, I'm naked.

I glare at my reflection critically. Then I stop because I look hot.

This is all my upbringing you know. We just didn't do this sort of thing back then. I mean, did you see how many layers of clothing we wore? It was a chore just to go to the bathroom never mind doing anything else. I edge closer to the mirror. I know the next step: sit down against the bed and spread my legs so that I can see everything. Alice was very clear about this part.

Apparently my clam and I (Alice – don't ask) need to reconnect after years of mutual disregard. I'm not sure how she came to the conclusion that we weren't connected. I mean, it isn't like we can do stuff separately. And we do have one real big thing in common – a very mutual love of Emmett and that thing he does with his fingers...

I let my eyes drift down to the soft blonde hair that trails between my thighs. Deep breaths Rosalie, you can so do this. I can do this. I will not be daunted by my own vagina. I will not.

I sit down in front of the mirror.

Get up again.

Sit down.

Glare at my reflection.

Oh this is stupid. I drop my legs apart quickly before I can change my mind but my eyes remain resolutely on the reflection of my own eyes. I'm fighting years of repression here; don't judge me!

Okay, I need to relax, I just need to relax. I close my eyes for a second, centre myself, and open them again. Eyes drift down slowly, over pert breasts, over flat stomach, over the gentle swell of my hips. Call me narcissistic but I'm kind of getting turned on. My hand automatically finds my breast and kneads gently before pressing my nipple firmly between finger and thumb. The bolt of pain-that-isn't-pain that stretches across my shoulders and across my abdomen simultaneously makes me gasp a little. Shit that feels good. I do it again.

I let my eyes drift right down and...oh. You know? It doesn't look half bad downstairs. Pinker than I was expecting. Softer somehow. And...what was the description Emmett used?... ah yes, wetter. I take a quick look around, even though I know there isn't anyone else here with me, and transfer some of the glistening moisture onto my fingertip, biting my lip at the unexpected bolt again but this time deeper, lower.

I raise my fingertip to my mouth and, after a second, stick my tongue out and lick it. My eyes meet my own in the mirror as I do it and it's unexpectedly hot. I get the pleasure bolt again. I taste tangy, a slight edge of salt with just a hint of venom underneath. I'm ... delicious. Seems there's a lot that's unexpected today.

I look closer, trying to identify all the things Alice pointed out on the stupid diagram she printed off. I use the tip of my finger to trace the outside, shivering a little as it makes my thighs tingle. "Labia Majora" Alice said, sounding freakishly like Carlisle. I shake that thought out of my head quickly before it ruins all the work I've done so far. I stroke them again and am rewarded with a rush of wetness that smells rather luscious.

I slide my finger to the very top and run it across the ridge, "the Prepuce," Alice said. Oh, oh that feels good! I do it again and the bolts of pleasure across my shoulders, abdomen and thighs join together momentarily, making me tip my head back. I repeat the motion, the gentle slick-slide of the tip of my finger and oh it's really really good.

I remember Alice explaining the clitoris and I'm intrigued. If what I've been doing so far feels this good, surely this little bundle of nerves she was so enthusiastic about should feel even better. I look closer, recalling the diagram, and slide my finger down appropriately...

Oh shitting fucking fucking shitting hell

I moan loudly this time. My bolt of pleasure has become an explosion every time I put a little pressure on the lump just beneath the ridge and ohmyfuckinghell...

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, I take my finger away because there is more Alice said I have to do and if I keep this up...well, you know. I take a second to catch my breath, because hell that felt incredible, and spread my legs a little wider. I note all my previous inhibitions seem to have vanished in a wave of wetness, pleasure and taste.

I stroke straight down the middle, searching out the source of the wetness as I was instructed. I watch closely as my finger slides inside a little, pausing at the dip that indicates the hidden depths of my Centre of Attraction. Emmett's had his fingers here. I remember how that felt vividly. So does my vagina as my hips twitch against the light, circling pressure I'm applying. I press a little harder, and my finger disappears.

Watching it takes my breath away (metaphorically of course). This is far more erotic that I had expected. I moan at the feel of my finger inside me, stroking within, surprised by the moisture and the sometimes smooth, sometimes rough textures. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. I'm panting.

My eyes drift closed of their own accord and an image of Emmett dances beneath my eyelids, naked and stroking himself, hand tight around his arousal, fingers dancing across the head, that mischievous look he gives me, and the dimples as he grins...

No! I open my eyes again and watch my hand move more urgently, my now-glistening finger slipping in and out a little faster than before. The aim of the exercise is getting off by...getting off, with me being the only visual. I file my wanking Emmett images away for later use and refocus my attention on the mirror: my flushed face, the way my chest is moving with the small whimpers I'm making, the way my free hand is still gently twisting my nipple between forefinger and thumb...

Shit shit shit

My arousal has become a tide, swelling and ebbing with my movements, tingling my skin inside and out as I watch my hand intently.

More!

The hand that was playing with my nipple finds its way down between my legs and presses the hand already down there firmly against my flesh. Oh shit! The finger inside me presses deeper, and the palm of my hand is stimulating my clitoris, and this feels so so so good...

I make a noise I haven't heard from myself before as I come around my finger, a tight pulsing that I've never felt so intimately, a rush of wetness against my hand, a swell of that succulent smell, and oh my legs are trembling and my arms are trembling...

It takes me a good five minutes to control my breathing and my shaking. I look up at my reflection and she looks back, sated and smug. I grin at her because I know what she's thinking. That was an extremely gratifying first go.

Thoughts of first go's leads to thoughts of second go's which leads to thoughts of that thing Emmett does with his tongue... I'm dressed and on my way downstairs in seconds to find my phone and demand my monkey-man comes home right damn now.

Edward's at the piano.

Shit.

It's awkward. He's meant to be at Boring Bella's. Not here. Not when I was upstairs becoming intimately acquainted with my Crumpet. His back is rigid, and he's not breathing. I pause at the stairs, uncertainty warring with embarrassment before I remember.

I am Rosalie Damn Hale and I am not embarrassed by my fuckhot vagina.

"Edward."

He whimpers and I can't help but snigger a little bit. I may be riding an orgasm high, but never let it be said that Rosalie Hale passed up an opportunity to be a bitch.

"Problem?"

He mumbles something, stands up and, without looking at me, shoots out the front door. There are finger-shaped indentations on his piano stool.

Oh, I am going to have sooo much fun with this.