Introducing the Dildo

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

“What?” I stammered. “What is that?” At 18 I was still quite innocent, naive even, having been raised in a very sheltered family home that was the product of strict fundamental religious beliefs. In fact, I had been “sent away” to this private Bible college by my family in hope that with a year of training post high school, I might consider a career as a missionary.

Yet, before me, on the work space of a new acquaintance’s dorm room, was a gigantic rubber phallus, a dildo I would later learn they were called, mounted by a suction cup to the edge of her desk. “What?” again I stammered, not quite sure why she would have such a peculiarly shaped object sitting as an ornament in her room. Yes, it looked a little like the pictures of penises I had seen in school science textbooks. But this object on P’s desk was much, much larger, both in girth and length than those flaccid anatomical illustrations. Startlingly so, in fact, and I was a bit surprised by the tingle I felt between my legs as I viewed the flesh colored object.

P giggled a little; I don’t think she anticipated the depth of my innocence nor that she would have to actually offer an explanation of herself and her proclivities before I realized why she had left it out in plain view while anticipating a visit from a dorm mate in this all female wing of the residences.

Deflection, being a tried and true method of not answering a question directly by switching the subject, was her forte and so she did just that, asking me if I would mind giving her a back massage to help combat ‘hunched over a desk studying’ fatigue. I fell for her switch; perhaps some part of me guessed what the object impaled on her desk was and with my innocent upbringing, I was just as happy not to talk about what she used it for or why she had it out on display deliberately, as it happened. As was our habit, P lay face down on her narrow single bed and then wiggled out of her campus logo sweatshirt. The squeeze bottle of lotion was on her bedside table and she handed it to me with the instructions, “Warm it up in your hands first, please.” Several viscous white blobs dripped out into the palm of my left hand and I held the congealed mass there for a moment, waiting for my body heat to infuse the lotion. P sighed a little, with contentment or frustration at my naiveté, I’m not sure, and then perched herself up on her elbows. “You know, I just washed this bra, and I don’t want to get the massage lotion all over it, so I’m going to take it off, ok?”

This was a departure from our usual quite platonic massage sessions, but I shrugged and said, “Sure.” I mean, she was face down on the bed, it’s not like I would be able to see her bare breasts so, whatever. She flopped down on the bed again and I watched her hands reach back for her bra clasp, undo it, and deftly slide the bra off bursa escort her shoulders and out from under her. The tingle I felt from my quick study of the dildo hadn’t quite subsided and I felt another surge of “interest” when P propped herself up on her elbows again. I was crouched just above her jean clad ass ready to begin the massage with the now warm cream, but I could still see the slightest hint of her well-rounded breasts on either side of her slim body. P’s head was tilted downward as if she too was interested in her own breasts. But, as I found out later, she was interested in figuring out if she could get me to massage her on the “front” as well as her back even though she would risk losing the friendship we had built, should I respond as any girl of strict religious upbringing might, to any hint of sexual impropriety, especially with a member of the same sex.

And so she rested her body back on her bed as I began the massage. I clearly noticed the smooth, fleshy bulges out each side of her body that were her breasts splayed sideways as she lay flat on her bed and again I felt an increase in the tingle between my legs. I was a little confused by what I was feeling but overriding my confusion was the fact that I was entranced. I had never touched another woman’s body intimately before, although I often thought of it when caressing my own. I knew masturbating was a sin, according to my religious upbringing, but couldn’t quite reconcile the pleasure it brought with the hell and damnation I was taught it deserved. In fact, the interdictions against any sort of sexual touching outside marriage between and man and a woman seemed out of synch with what my body seemed to know about how to experience pleasure.

Emboldened by my own small rebellious acts of the past, I contemplated whether I should I widen the arc of my firm massage stroke so that my fingers would “accidentally” edge closer to her breasts? P shifted her position slightly with a contented wiggle of her ass and the enticing roundness of her left breast became more pronounced. I went for it. Subtlety though. And to my surprise P arced up from the waist so that, if I bent a little to one side or the other, I could clearly see the profile of each bare breast swaying slightly with the rhythm of the back massage I was delivering.

“MMMM,” she moaned appreciatively and I, daringly, responded to her provocation by swooping my hands over a greater part of each breast on my downward massage stroke. This time she gasped, and I could tell it was from enjoyment, not necessarily surprise. “Oh my god,” she murmured, “that feels so good.” I swept my lotioned hands once more down over her breasts, cupping them with my palms, and this time felt the nub of each nipple. The gasp this time was mine, but, like P’s, it was from enjoyment. My hands paused a moment, bursa escort bayan caressing her nipples, and feeling the corresponding seep of vaginal fluid trickling down my pussy. P buried her face in her pillow and groaned with a deep pleasure. “Keep doing that,” she urged, then reversed tactics, “No,wait, let me get a little more comfortable.”

And with that she nudged me off her backside where I had been crouched for the massage. Without turning around to face me, she quickly slipped off her jeans and panties, tossing them into a pile on the floor. Then she lay back down on the bed, torso propped up on her elbows and legs splayed beneath me so I could see the delicate parting of her labia where her ass morphed into her vagina. “Massage me more,” she was a little demanding but I hesitated only a second before I resumed a hand stroke that figure eighted across her back, down over her breasts, and over each ass cheek. “God yes,” she shuddered, “and between my legs.” P wasn’t hesitating to let me know where she wanted to go with this.

This time I did pause, but only for a moment and then my hand delved down into the hot alcove between her legs. Again she ducked her face down into her pillow and let out a shuddering groan. “Oh . . . my . . . god!” P gasped each word out and then nudged me back from my crouch on her ass so she was positioned “doggy” style naked on her bed. “MMMM, more, please,” and she spread her legs wider so that her glistening cunt was in plain sight from my position at her backside. “Stroke me more between my legs.”

There was no turning back at this point. No pretending that we didn’t know what we were doing. No apology to God that we hadn’t meant to stumble into sin. No nonsense about not really enjoying it and that we were just doing it ’cause it was all part of a platonic massage. No, my hand didn’t just gently massage P between the legs. I rubbed her firmly; I ran my finger back and forth, deeper and deeper between the ruffled folds of her vagina so that even with her groaning response and my quickening breath we could both clearly hear the delightful slurp of natural lubricant that was dripping from her pussy. “Oh my god, I need to be fucked,” P’s words were garbled with desire but I could understand them clearly enough.

“What?” I hesitated, still not having put two and two, or rather the dildo and her vagina, together in my mind.

“Fuck me with it,” her tone was insistent. “The dildo, the thing on the desk!”

“Huh?” I was definitely naively dumb at that point.

“Shit,” P reluctantly dragged herself off the bed and away from my slick hand.

“Like this,” she definitely was annoyed at me for not clueing in, and she climbed up on her desk chair, positioned her naked body over the dildo, grabbed it in one hand, and, spreading her legs, began to press escort bursa her vagina down onto its rounded head. She grimaced at first, the thing was huge, even now, as I look back, having experienced many of the real and not so real ones in my life since that time, I think of it as almost impenetrably big. But she was persistent, and I heard sort of a plop and a suck as she used the weight of her body to begin to sink it in. “MMMM,” her groan was a garbled moan, “come over here.”

I needed no further encouragement as I was intrigued, excited, and entranced by what she was doing and by the view I had of her labia stretching wide as she forced the dildo further and further up her vagina. She was panting as she moved up and down fucking herself with the dildo, but she wanted more. “Stroke me again,” and with one hand she led mine back between her legs. “Find my clit, and rub hard.” I found it easily, so splayed open was she by the dildo on which she was plunging up and down. “Yes,” her voice heightened the frenzy of my stroke and her fucking motions. “Oh, god, yes, yes,” the words were both an affirmation that what I was doing was the right thing and that she was reaching a peak of sexual excitement. I too, of course, was responding to her movements, her breasts bouncing up and down with her exertion, the smell of her musty juices in the air, and her panting breaths as she plunged up and down on the dildo. My own pussy was soaked and I could feel my swollen clit pressing against my sensible white cotton panties.

“Aughghghgh,” she almost screamed as a clear fluid shot like a fountain from her cunt, soaking my hand and splashing onto the floor in a hot puddle.

“What?” and again I was learning a new lesson, that women could squirt and that the orgasm which followed a squirt was ten times better than one without. P’s spasms rocked her body not once, not twice, but in three prolonged tremors that left her dripping and satiated.

“Oh . . . my . . . god,” P reiterated, “that was amazing.”

Whether God had anything to do with it, I guess we’ll never really know for sure. But he did make the body parts, or at least the flesh and blood ones, and, one assumes, the pleasurable responses that come from touching and stroking said body parts. As for P, well, she got kicked out of the Bible college later that semester as, apparently, she had introduced one too many young co-eds to the benefits of owning and using a dildo and there were some complaints. Not from me, that’s for sure. But, I too did not fare so well, as I began to verbalize more and more of my questions about the doctrines we were being taught and that alone did not synch well with the idea that “women should keep silent in the churches.” Needless to say, I was deemed inappropriate for missionary life and although my sexual experiences with other women later in life were more events of happenstance than conscious pursuit, recalling the image of that magnificent rubber dildo stuck like an ensign on P’s desk is enough to send me on a quest for personal fulfillment of another kind.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32