Liberator Lusty Lit 2019: Long Time Listener, First Time Caller
(Part 1)
Just friends; that's what we told ourselves, but sexual tensions rise high when in proximity to each other. It led from a stroke of a hand to a gentle touch on the knee; from permission to kiss, to no longer needing permission to probe.
Our first encounter was innocent and high school-like. A steamy make-out session on the couch between two adults, included hair-tugging and wild, inverted dips. The beginning kisses were awkward with knocking teeth and him asking for feedback. But he was a quick and, oh-so, passionate learner. The way his fingertips traced my sides were gentle and explorative.
I loved his interest in me, and, at times like these, a girl needs to feel interested in. I told him about a spot on my lower sides, towards the back, that sends tingles to the top of my shoulders; or at least they did, they haven't been found in a decade. I can't find them. They are a spot that can only be activated by foreign hands. But his lips found that spot on the back of my neck that arches my spine when his breath nears it. And his fingers found the spot on my sides that makes my hips run away from those foreign hands. And those foreign hands laid me down and showed me how he was a master at the art of finger foreplay; a type of foreplay that is despised by women because of how lazy and awful most men are at it. But him, he was different.
He placed me on a Royal Blue Liberator Wedge, come to find out he likes to stay eye level with the scene. He drizzled lube on my labia from above, and like a science experiment, waited until it dripped to where he wanted it. Then he worked his index and middle finger into my vagina, commenting on my tightness. He worked slowly, finding the ridges that led him to my g-spot. With his thumb he rubbed my clit as his other hand put gentle pressure on my pubic bone, pulling taught my labia, keeping my bead stable for him.
Never have I witnessed such precision and dedication to my pleasure. He occasionally asks me questions, “How does that feel? …What about this?” I wish he wouldn't do that; but what do you expect when you're being turned out by a virgin?
(Part 2)
He's a Master of Research, which kept him single for too long. But alas, our chemistry led to an explosive experiment.
He's aware of his prostate, how he likes his male stroker manipulated, the anatomy of, and how to find, a girl's special spots, the ideal lube, and he researched all orifices. Now, all that research was being put to the test with one girl: me.
We call them our sex sessions; blocks of time specifically scheduled for hours of chills, thrills, orgasms, climaxes, steady hands, and shaky hands. One started off by maneuvering my hips onto the blue wedge. He drizzled lube on my labia from above and let it run down my vagina, my perineum, and to my anus. With one finger, he circularly massaged my outside sphincter until it let him in. The pressure and pleasure were bliss.
Each smooth probe, I relaxed a little more. When he noticed the release of tension, it was his queue for an additional finger. Soon he had two in me, opening them as wide as my orifice will let him. He had a goal in mind. When the tension released again, he went for the A-spot and rubbed my clit with the other hand.
My body went into overdrive; back arching and my hands grasping my own hair. I begged him to fuck me, but his experiment wasn't done yet.
He drizzled more lube against the anus and while pulling out his fingers he inserts a vibrator into my rectum. The vibrator begins in inconsistent pulses. It feels pleasureful but not as great as his fingers, but he has a plan. He maneuvers to climb on top of me, licking from my clit to my stomach, to my breasts and presses his hard dick against my vagina and I gladly let him in.
At this time, I can feel the vibrator creating vibrations against anything that can make me implode. His hard dick presses my vaginal wall against the vibrator creating friction on my A-spot. The vibrator pulsating at inconsistent tones is driving me crazy and making me beg for an orgasm.
Each thrust he gives relays friction on my G-spot, the curve of his penis, perfect with my anatomy. The warmth of his body makes me aware; this is heaven.
The only imperfect thing is the inconsistency of that damn vibrator, but he likes it like that. He likes to see me in bliss, calm down, and rile me up again. He calls it a slow build-up, I call it torture. As my orgasms last longer and longer, I can feel it; this is going to be the best one yet.
My orgasms start to blend; there is no more cool-down period. My abs are fully contracted. I slam my hands on his back for leverage and for his bated breath to be near me; I want to know I’m turning him on too.
The pulses of my orgasms go into strong beats, firing quickly, my matching breathe turns into matching winces until finally, the vibrator starts another round-simultaneously my back arches, head falls back, and all the beating orgasms clamp together on his rigid cock while I let out a sigh of defeat.
The virgin won again.
