|
G Spot Run
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
GEE SPOT RUN
by Sue
It all began a couple of weeks ago, when I was jogging in the park and ran
across my neighbor, Jane, as she was strolling on the wooded trails. I slowed
down to her leisurely pace, and tried to strike up a conversation as I caught
my breath from my vigorous workout. She and I have been friends in a sort of
light and social way, but the discussions that we have had have been mostly
about the weather, the neighborhood, politics, and the like. Nothing that
cuts through the layers of social veneer that shroud our deeper thoughts and
feelings, that make us feel both safe and lifeless. But today, Jane didn't
seem up for the usual small talk, so for a while we walked together in
silence, enjoying the crisp air of early winter. She was shy, and I knew from
visiting her home that she and her husband Dick were fairly straight-laced,
with a decidedly religious bent. They were always talking about how inspiring
Jerry Falwell was, and a few years ago, they had knocked on my door to
distribute "Pat Robertson for President" literature.
Eventually, I began to ask questions that steered the subject matter around
to what was on her mind. She didn't seem too comfortable with this line of
talk, but at the same time, she didn't shut down and pull away. It was clear
to me that there were things that she needed to say, but it was unfamiliar
territory for her. I tried to give her the space to let it out at it's own
pace, and I was genuinely supportive about the problems that she eventually
blurted out. We talked and walked for well over an hour, and to put in a
nutshell, she was bored and repressed. Her thoughts and feelings weren't in
exact correspondence with the traditions and teachings of her family and her
church, and she now felt trapped and helpless.
Of course, knowing me as many of you readers do, you can probably guess that
I wanted to know about their sex lives. It took a lot of subtle prodding, and
a lot of blushing on her part, but eventually we got around to the heart of
the matter, which was that her husband's idea of sex was a once-a-month,
tab-A-in-slot-B, lights-off session that had no spice, no feeling, and no
tenderness.... And for Jane, there was no orgasm. She had resorted to an
occasional masturbation, but she felt dirty and sneaky about it, so that
wasn't making her happy either. In fact, the whole situation was making her
feel distant from her husband, and ashamed that it was all her fault.
I know that this all sounds like such a classic, stereotypical situation, but
here was a real woman who was suffering through anxieties that felt familiar
and sad to me. So after hearing her out, I took the risk of revealing some
stuff about myself, things that I normally only talk about anonymously
through the Internet, or with my trusted lovers. I told her about my
fascination with erotica, and that I wrote stories based on my wildest
fantasies, which I posted on the 'Net for all to read. She had heard of the
alt.sex groups -- they had been reviled at length in her church groups. So
Jane was amazed that she was now talking to an active participant in such an
illicit activity, and that a woman would be involved. A woman that was that
"nice lady down the street," as she put it.
After getting over her shock, she asked me what kind of things I wrote about.
It was really a struggle for her to ask, and her face was inflamed with a
scarlet blush. I didn't want to scandalize her too much, so I just said that
I wrote about things that were kinky and graphic, but that I didn't get into
stuff that involved pain and humiliation. It was all for fun, a way to
explore my own flowering sexuality in a full and safe way. Now Jane's
embarrassment was abating, and she asked more and more detailed questions, so
that eventually, I offered to lend her the printouts of some of my stories.
At that point, we were back to the parking lot of the park, so we both drove
over to my house, where I handed over a stack of printouts for a couple of my
more tame erotic stories. The one on the top was "Craftsmanship." She touched
the white papers as if they were covered with germs. But when I suggested
that maybe she wasn't ready for this kind of stuff, she was unwilling to let
go. Still, I was worried about what the impact of my stories would be on her
fragile psyche, so I recommended that she sit and read for a bit to see if
she really wanted to take these home. She was kind of in a daze, so I took
Jane's hand and led her into the den where she could sit and relax in the
wing-back chair. I left her to look over the stories, giving her some privacy
while I went to take a shower; I needed to wash off the stale sweat that I
had generated while I was jogging, and I didn't think that Jane needed
someone looking over her shoulder just then.
It felt so good to let the spray of scalding hot water blast onto my
shoulders and back. Acting as Jane's mentor in her attempt to break out of
her marital jail was making me tense, so I just stood under the shower for 10
or 15 minutes. I let my hands trace lazy circles over my breasts, my tummy,
my thighs, and occasionally over the sparsely-furred mound of my cunt. But I
resisted the temptation to slide my finger into the furrow between my vulva.
I wanted to keep my focus on Jane and her problems, not become absorbed in
releasing my own sexual tension.
Finally, I stepped out of the shower, and toweled myself off briskly. I
wrapped my sopping hair into a towel turban, and then covered the rest of my
pink body in the wonderful polar fleece bathrobe that I had been given for
Christmas by my new friends at Victoria's Secrets. And I walked back toward
the den to check on my guest. I figured that by now Jane would have read
enough to have some questions for me. Or she would be ready to attack me for
my lewd and perverted thoughts. In fact it wouldn't have surprised me to
discover that Jane had fled to the safety of her car and her home. But when I
got to the door of the den, what I beheld was not anything that I had
anticipated. Instead, I discovered Jane with her head tipped back and her
eyes clenched tightly closed. She was slouched down deep into the soft
cushions and her legs were spread wide, knees angled outward. One of her
hands had crept up under the bottom of her white, flower-speckled turtleneck,
where it was cupping and squeezing one of her breasts. Her other hand had
insinuated itself under the elastic waistband of her tight pink stretch
pants. Through the taut fabric, I could see the outline of her fingers as
they extended down over the juncture of her thighs. The bumps of her knuckles
quivered as she prodded into the needy flesh. And a sustained, warbling hum
emanated from her throat.
I'm not sure what made her aware that was watching, but all of a sudden, Jane
opened her eyes, saw me, and let out a high-pitched little squeal. Her hands
whisked out of the confines of her clothes, and she folded them in her lap
demurely. "Oh, I'm so mortified," she said, "I can' believe that I got so out
of control. You must think I'm horrible." Jane looked like a child who had
been caught stealing candy, and she was clearly about to cry.
I wanted to reassure her that it was OK, so I closed the space between us and
kneeled down beside her chair, pulling her into my arms in a comforting
embrace. I could feel her kind of shaking in my arms, and her breathing was
ragged and rapid. I'm sure that this was because of the combination of the
sexual stimulation and the embarrassment. I let her be like that for a few
minutes, massaging the back of her neck and shoulders (her hands were still
clenched in her lap). When she had settled down, I let her go and rocked back
on my heels. We began to talk it all out. I assured her that her reaction to
reading my stories was completely normal. In fact, that is just the kind of
response that the stories were designed to get, so her losing control like
that was really a great compliment to me.
I told her "Even when I'm writing the stories, I get so turned-on sometimes
that I have to stop typing so that I can reach down and rub my cunt for a big
orgasm. And when I read other people's stories, I usually masturbate. I'm
sorry that you feel bad about what you were doing, and I'm even more sorry
that I interrupted you. So I'm going to leave the room again so that you can
finish what you started." And I stood up and started to turn around, when she
stopped me by asking "Please don't go yet... there is something that I wanted
to ask you about.... aaahh, I don't know how to say it, I'm not used to
talking about sex at all." She was blushing again (had she stopped at all in
the past two hours?), and her words were whispered and raspy. But she forced
herself to continue. "I'm not sure that I'm doing it right."
At first, I didn't know what she meant, and when I figured out that she meant
that she wasn't sure if she knew how to masturbate, my first response was to
say that it couldn't be possible, that every person knows how. But I caught
myself before those words left my lips, and instead I reassured her some
more, letting her know that everyone figures it out for themselves. "Practice
makes perfect, you know. Just figure out what works by experimenting." But
Jane persisted by telling me, "I guess I'm wondering about it because some of
the things that you talk about in your stories, well, I just don't get it.
Like I was just reading about this G spot thing. And I don't know what you're
talking about. I wish I knew what to do."
So I explained it to her, and then I guess I just decided to go for broke.
All this talk about sex was making me more and more bold. I said "If you show
me what it is that you are doing when you masturbate, maybe I can help you
figure it out." She was quiet for a few moments, as the prospect of going
ahead with my idea wormed its way past her ingrained defenses. I thought for
sure that she would turn me down, but again, Jane surprised me by saying "I
can't believe I'm saying this, but... I guess I could do that, but only if
you do it too. I want to see how you masturbate, and you could show me how
you do your G spot."
Well, I'm normally not into having sex with just a woman. That just isn't my
thing, or it hasn't been in the past, anyway. But this was different. I
wasn't going to be actually touching her. It was more like "I'll show you
mine if you show me yours." And I was certainly ready to masturbate, after
hours of various kinds of mild stimulation. I was also very curious to see
what Jane would do with herself. It was hard to remember back to when I was
learning how to please myself. So I agreed.
Jane stood up and I could see that she was a bit shaky on her feet, sort of
drunken with the reality of what she was about to do. I asked her to take off
her stretch pants, and after she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, she
hesitated for a few seconds, then stripped the pants down to her ankles in
one fast push. She almost fell over as she stepped out of them. Straightening
up, I saw that she was wearing the most chaste white cotton panties. Her
hands crossed in front of her cunt, like fig leaves. But she finally let her
arms relax and her hands fell to her sides. Not surprisingly, the crotch
panel of her panties was dark and moist with the stain her secretions. She
was frozen in that position, until I asked her if she wanted to go on with
this. And she answered wordlessly, by peeling the panties down her long slim
legs.
"Why don't you sit back down in the chair, and show me what you were doing
when I came into the room." And as she sat down, I positioned myself a couple
of feet away from her, sitting cross-legged on the thick plush carpeting, so
that I could look right up at her. As I did this, my bathrobe parted, and my
own cunt came into view. I untied the belt of the robe, and then let the
whole thing slide off my shoulders into a pile behind me. Now I was
completely nude, and with my thighs spread wide so that Jane could see my
cunt, she could see my pink labia, as well as the slick moist surfaces of my
vaginal entrance. Looking down at myself, I noticed that my inner lips were
stuck together, so I reached down, and peeled them apart. Now the shadowy
mouth of my vagina was open, framed by the jagged crimson skirt of wet skin.
Looking back up at Jane, I saw that she had bent herself forwards at the
waist, and she was mesmerized by the view that I had made available to her.
When I asked her if she had ever had the chance to look so closely at another
woman, or even herself, she admitted that she hadn't. She had seen naked
women in the locker room in high school, but she had basically averted her
eyes. And when she masturbated, she usually did it in the dark, or at least
with her eyes shut. I suggested that she should really get to know herself
better. She could use a hand mirror. And right now, she really should spread
her legs before she got bruises on her knees where they were clamped so
tightly together!
Jane let her legs open up, but still we couldn't see much, since the bottom
edge of her turtleneck draped downwards, shrouding her pubic area. So I asked
her to take off her shirt, which she did, revealing small breasts clad in a
simple white bra that reminded me of my training bra when I was an early
teenager. No satin, silk, or lace, just innocent thick cotton jersey
material, with the clasp in the back. Although her breasts weren't
particularly big, Jane was exhibiting the hard nubs of her nipples through
the fabric, and it was more evidence of how aroused she was, for the size of
her nipples made up for the size of her breasts. They poked out like big ripe
strawberries, tenting the cotton cloth into pointy mounds. Her breathing was
now more relaxed, but I enjoyed the sight of the white triangles of her bra
lifting and dropping rhythmically as she inhaled and exhaled. In fact I found
myself really getting in to checking out her entire body. She was much
shorter than me, maybe only five-foot-two, or so, but she was compact and
strong -- petite, really.
When my attention had roamed all over the rest of her body, I let myself
focus on the juncture of her thighs, which she had closed again as she
skinned off her shirt. I reached forwards and lightly touched her knees, and
she didn't resist my insistent but unhurried efforts as I gently drew her
thighs apart. She was eagerly cooperating now, ready to explore and enjoy the
secrets of her suppressed sexuality.
All the while I stared eagerly at her cunt, and Jane, too, kept her eyes
locked on that target. It was like the grand unveiling of a magnificent
sculpture. Her brown pubic hair was very tightly curled, but not thick and
bushy, and it sprouted all over the surface of her barely mounded cunt. As
her knees spread more, a dark vertical line became visible through the fur,
and then the line divided into two distinct lines, with deep pink between.
The image of a Chinese fan came to my mind, as more and more ridges of flesh
were revealed in the widening gap between the hairy parentheses of her vulva.
The moist pink flesh was tinged with grayish-brown tones that fringed the
ragged edges of her inner labia. Above that, where the ridges joined, the nub
of her clitoris was mostly hidden under the darker hood, but a hint of
swollen whitish flesh peeked out. Now I could inhale the sweet-and-sour scent
of her juices, and I could see the secretions seeping from the barely open
entrance to her vagina.
Before I let go of her knees, I pulled her forwards so that her ass perched
on the very edge of the chair. Then I fell backwards, and I put the soles of
my feet onto her ankles. This kept her from pulling her legs back together,
and it maintained the contact of skin-on-skin that I found I was enjoying
very much. I let my knees splay outwards, reopening my own cunt to her view.
Staring deeply into Jane's eyes, I said to her "you deserve the very best,
you deserve to be happy, and you deserve to have the greatest orgasm of your
life. Go for it, Jane. You have a beautiful body, and a beautiful cunt. Touch
yourself the way you need to. Watch me, and watch yourself. I'll guide you if
you need."
And with that, I took one hand and enveloped one of my breasts and began to
fondle it, with two of my fingers straddling my hardened nipple. My other
hand zeroed in on my wide-open cunt. Jane did the same as me, pushing her bra
up so that it creased into the flesh on the upper slope of her breasts. Those
huge nipples made their first true appearance, and I saw that they were
chocolate brown and cylindrical, and quite sensitive to the touch, judging by
the electric jerk that jumped through her body as she raked her fingernails
over the swollen pegs. Her breathing was getting faster, and again her body
jerked and shuddered as her other hand made contact with her cunt. She
started by using all her fingers together to form a flat paddle, which she
rubbed in wide circles around her entire pubic mound. So I told her to watch
me, and I led by example as I took my index finger, dipped it quickly down
into the sopping entrance of my vagina, and then brought the moisture back up
to my clitoris. I used my first and third fingers to spread my fat outer lips
and sparse pubic hair out of the way. Then I pulled the tip of my middle
finger up towards my palm, so that it made direct contact on my exposed and
rubbery clitoris. That felt so, so good, and I sighed deeply. As my finger
started to poke and prod in a regular circular motion, my sighs turned to
raspy whimpers. I had to exert self-discipline to keep from going too fast,
but I wanted to make sure that Jane stayed in my thoughts.
She had followed my example, but seemed to be having trouble keeping her lips
spread. So I asked her to use her one hand to keep the lips out of the way
while the other hand concentrated on the clitoris. And I also suggested that
her inner labia might also enjoy being rubbed and massaged. She was reluctant
to stop playing with her breasts, but eventually, she got the idea of what I
was talking about, and it worked for her. Now she too was moaning, and her
hips started tilting and pivoting, as if she was fucking her hand.
That reminded me of one of her earlier questions, about her G spot. I was
reluctant to interrupt her again, but I wasn't sure that another opportunity
would arise like this, so I asked if she wanted to try something else. She
didn't stop flicking at her clitoris, but she said yes, of course. I imagined
that she was now as eager as a puppy. What a change from the shy and
repressed little housewife that I had known before. I said "watch me, I'll
show you where my G spot is. If you can find yours, rub it gently while you
keep playing with your clitoris. It doesn't work for everyone, but lets find
out."
I took my hand from my breast and used my middle finger to hook upwards into
my vagina, and I found the vaguely rounded lump of tissue an inch or so
inside. I started a slow back and forth rubbing action that was matched by
the up and down pressure that I put on my clitoris. By now, my cunt flesh was
so swollen and puffy that my outer labia stayed spread by themselves, so I
could use three fingers to chase and trap my clit. Wet slurping sounds filled
the air, and my own potent fragrances mixed with Jane's. Looking up, I could
see that Jane had discovered her G spot, and her moaning was becoming louder.
She said that the only problem was that she felt like she'd have to stop to
go pee. I reassured her that this sensation was normal, and that it would go
away in a couple of minutes. She relaxed again.
Every woman has different ways of masturbating, and already Jane was finding
her own strategy. The main thing was that she was much more vigorous about it
than I ususally am. While I kind of lightly rub and tease myself, she was
really pushing her clit and cunt around, hard and fast. I could see the
tendons on the back of her hands stretched tight like steel cables. She was
panting like she was running a marathon race, and a sheen of sweat covered
her flushed chest and forehead. Her ass was lifting off the chair seat as if
driven by a big piston, and her thigh muscles rippled with the exertion.
She was totally engrossed and delirious with the pleasures that her body was
providing her for the first time, and the sight was enough to push me over
the top. My own orgasm had been reigned in long enough, so I let go of my
control and immediately, ripples of elation tickled through my body. The
ripples soon turned to waves, and they came crashing through me, pounding
over my cunt and torso, washing over my head. I fell back onto the carpet and
my discarded robe, letting my entire body writhe and shimmy as I kept up the
rhythmic massage of my G spot and clitoris. Who knows how long I was swept up
in the rapture of my orgasm -- it was timeless.
Eventually, the sounds of Jane's bouncing hips, her slurping cunt, and her
guttural snorts brought me back around to reality. I got back up on my knees
and leaned forwards to watch her. I had never actually watched a woman
masturbate so close-up, and the sights and sounds and smells were intense and
intoxicating. My hands had a life of their own as they rose from my hips and
again made contact with her jerking knees. Then I traced my fingertips up the
inner surface of her thighs. They were slippery with sweat; the muscles were
quaking with the effort to pump her hips up and down. I slid my hands further
forwards, and then under her ass with my palms up. Now I held her ass
motionless, suspended over the cushion, as I cupped and kneaded her cheeks
with the same energy that she was putting into her masturbation. She was
possessed by her natural, animal appetites, and nothing was going to slow her
down. In fact, my touch probably was the final thing that completed her long
build-up. I felt the muscles in her ass clench up so tight that my fingers
could hardly dent the lean flesh. Her eyes locked on mine as she started to
twiddle her fingers over her clitoris so fast that it was almost a blur. The
finger implanted in her cunt stopped moving, instead tightening up its
determined pressure on her new-found G spot.
Then her rasping pants stopped in mid-breath, and her back arched. Every
muscle in her body became rigid. Only her fingers on one hand moved as she
fluttered relentlessly over her protruding, rubbery clitoris. Then Jane let
loose with a series of quick harsh grunts, and her fingers stopped moving
over her clit, matching the squeezing grip of her other hand as she squashed
her hard nub of sensitive tissue. Whereas I had writhed and danced in my own
orgasm, Jane became paralyzed by the power and electricity that raged through
her inexperienced body. Finally, I beheld the final proof of the fantastic
power of her climax -- Jane is one of the rare women who ejaculate when they
have a G spot orgasm! At the peak of her pleasure, an incredible amount of
clear, syrupy liquid began to ooze out from around her embedded finger,
spilling down onto my wrists and into the fabric of the cushion. I had heard
of this, but to see it happen inches from my eyes was wonderous and exciting.
When Jane finally released the steel-hard flex from her body, and collapsed
back onto the damp chair, she struggled to catch her breath. I pulled my
hands out from under her, and pushing up off my haunches, I leaned into her
so that I could wrap my arms around her waist and embrace her in a tender and
sexually-charged hug. My face rested against her damp, heaving breasts, and I
let my tongue snake out of my mouth so that I could lap lightly onto one of
her amazingly large "Hershey's Kiss" nipples.
But pursuing more interactive sex between the two of us would have to wait
for another time, for we were both completely satiated and exhausted at that
moment. And besides, I wasn't really sure whether either of us was ready for
this kind of experiment. It would be unknown territory for both Jane and I;
despite my vast experience and curiosity, I had consciously avoided any
purely lesbian encounter. In fact, what I had just experienced with Jane was
the closest I had come to this taboo area, and I could see that my resistance
was quickly dissipating. Someday soon, maybe Jane and I might explore this
together, and if and when we do, we would both be "virgins." Given Jane's
enthusiasm for the masturbation lessons, I felt sure that she would want to
continue our adventures in the big and thrilling world of sex. Enough with
all the rules that Jane and I had let inhibit our pleasures. If it feels
good, do it. Words for us both to live by.
Jane left my home that day with a stack of my stories, the promise to
continue to experiment with masturbating, and a smug look of blissful
satisfaction painted across her face. She knew there was no turning back now.
NOTE: This story is be continued soon in Sue's 18th: "Fun With Dick and
Jane," where Sue will be invited to a small dinner party at Dick and Jane's
house.
|
|
