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 ï>¿Playing Around The Water by 100yearrain

   Playing Around The Water Ch.  01

   A Black girl near the winter pool, discovering exhibitionism.

   This story mostly happens in and around a place known locally as 'The
Spring', so I firstly need to explain what that is.

   The Spring is located in a small lowland park in the middle of my
Eastern European city.  The park's center is a natural mineral water
source, which was adopted long ago by the city authorities: a few asphalt
alleys, park benches, children's playgrounds.  The water of the spring runs
from several taps where you can fill a bottle.  There is also a narrow
stream with concrete banks.  The stream is maybe half a meter wide and half
a meter deep, yet still lovely: clear and quick, with bright pebbles in the
bottom.  Being a home for a few ducks, it is a favorite place for locals to
wander along.

   At the beginning of the stream, people submerge into the cold clear
water.  In my childhood days, it was considered somewhat weird, and there
weren't any conveniences for those who wanted to bathe, but they still did.
In recent years, it was finally acknowledged as a popular amenity.  The
place near the rising of the stream was widened and deepened to produce a
convenient two-by-three meters pool, maybe a meter deep, with stairs and
bright tiling; changing rooms were added.

   The water is cold, maybe 10 degrees Celsius (that would be 50 Fahrenheit
for you in the US), so it requires some bravery to try.  Still, it is a
pleasant experience, both refreshing and energizing!  So, there is somebody
diving there at almost any time of the year.  Obviously, there are more
people in the summer, but there are some regulars, even in cold and snowy
weather.  Many of them are fans of a healthy lifestyle, some hipster young
types and not a small bunch of grandpas (and an occasional grandma)
clinging to their old habits.  Others are just middle-aged people going for
that feeling of being refreshed and energized before a long day--and that
would be me.

   The routine is simple: you get there, change in your swimming suit, get
into the pool, then get out after a few seconds (or a few minutes if your
spirit is strong and a line of others is small), maybe sunbathe or wander
for some time, or maybe go in for a second dip, before changing back to
your street clothes, and back to normal life.  Those of the regulars who
usually come at the same time recognize each other with a small nod or
occasional "Hello", but rarely engage in conversation--at least not me,
until that one time.

   That was mid-winter one year, not too cold but still around freezing
temperature; the crowd at the spring was small, mainly consisting of
vaguely familiar faces.  But hers was not; I was sure of it: I have never
before seen a Black girl here, definitely not at this time of the year.

   As I've already told you, my city is in Eastern Europe, and the
population is primarily white.  There are some foreigners, though: Asians,
Arabs, and Black people.  Most of them are students: the city's
universities have a reputation of being decent yet cheap.  Both claims are
somewhat exaggerated if you ask me, but foreign students do come here.  So,
the girl must've been a student (I learned later she indeed was), and there
would be nothing out of the ordinary to meet her in any other place in the
city, but here, in the snow, in just her bright red swimsuit, waiting for a
dip in 10-degree water?  Now that one was definitely not ordinary.

   We stepped up to the bath at almost the same time, and I gentlemanly let
her go first.  It seemed as though it was not her first time.  She stepped
in confidently, submerged completely and stayed under the water for a few
seconds, and then loudly emerged, with splashing and snorting, visibly
enjoying the experience.  I looked at her briefly, not in a
'man-looks-at-woman' way, just an appreciative look at a fellow
water-lover, somewhat weirdly proud even--I don't know which: either of
this strange girl or the spring's effect on her.

   She must've appreciated the attention: later, when we both were dressed
and starting to make our way out, it was me who she asked where the WC was.
Maybe she guessed I was her best bet for a conversation in English: that
day's other swimmers were mostly grandpas, and those people rarely speak
anything except our local language.

   I showed her the way, and then we went to the bus stop together, and
this brief encounter turned out to be a beginning of an unlikely
friendship.

   It was just all accidental: I went there three or four times a week, as
usual, and she did, too.  Our schedules intersected most of the time, so we
started to say hello, then make quick small talk.  Nothing too long at
first, things like "How do you like today's weather?" or "You skipped last
week." But somehow, we both found the conversations pleasant and started to
know each other a bit better.  We shared basic facts about ourselves, but
mostly talked about books and countries: my country, her country, and
various other countries we've never been to but planned or dreamed of
visiting.  After a few weeks, I suddenly realized that we started to wait
for each other if one was late--without any explicit agreement.

   She was indeed a student from Kenya, studying some engineering stuff, a
sporty and book-loving type.  She first dipped in the spring in a company
of friends due to some stupid semi-drunken bet, but unlike her friends,
found out she really liked it.  "Makes me really aware of my body, really
be in it," she explained.  See, we talked about the body too, nothing too
sensuous or flirtatious, yet she was quite open about it, and I liked that
and felt at ease talking to her.

   Once she mentioned how unusual the changing rooms felt at first.  They
were simple: not closed ones with doors, so not actually cubicles, just
labyrinth-style spaces with a wall making a small corridor and a place to
hide from others' eyes.  After the latest renovation, the changing rooms
were rebuilt for two people each: one for two men and one for two women, so
when there were some people around (and there typically were), you needed
to change together with some stranger.  She complained about it, not in a
self-conscious but rather in a playful manner: how weird it was at first to
undress with no door to lock, and under the accidental stare of a white
woman; odd, yet interesting odd, or so I understood.  In a moment of
boldness, I decided to go along with this playfulness and said
half-jokingly: "You know, the one in the changing room closer to the exit
could be even visible from the outside, if they aren't careful."

   It seems I guessed her mood right because she answered, with the same
playfulness: "Oh, it teases my exhibitionist tendencies!"

   Nevertheless, I hadn't given this exchange much thought, till one time,
when I was dressed first, and she waited in line, we started to discuss
some new movie, and continued the discussion when she went inside--so I
stayed close to the entrance to the women's area.  Decently close, of
course, just to keep the conversation with somebody inside.  At some point,
I noticed I could see her bending to look for something in her backpack:
bending just enough outside of the protective wall that I could see her
breasts from the side.  I imagined she did it intentionally, so I
shamelessly enjoyed the view of her small firm breast with its very dark,
small, erect nipple, whilst continuing the conversation at the same time.
Then, answering my question about the movie character, she looked in my
direction, and I caught her momentary surprise from realizing that I saw
her.  But she just continued to look in her backpack, without any attempt
to cover herself or step back, and I continued to stare, half thinking I
probably should not.

   In a few minutes, fully dressed, we silently walked towards the park
exit, feeling a weird mixture of awkwardness, joy, and a shared secret--or
at least that's what I felt.

   "Sorry for the show," she said finally, "It wasn't intentional."

   But her tone was light, and there was a warmth in it, so I answered
simply:

   "Sorry for staring...  I thought it was and was just being polite," at
which point she laughed and admitted, "It actually might've been!  I really
like to show myself...  But I need to feel safe."

   "I really liked looking at you, and I assure you are completely safe
with me," I answered simply.

   "So, we are good?"

   "We are good."

   In a couple of days, the show was repeated: this time, it was definitely
intentional.  I hung around near the entrance of the female changing room
when she went in there, at a respectable distance.  She made a point of
waiting till that 'semi-visible' place near the exit was free to take.  She
then continued the dialog as she went in there, so I needed to step closer.
And then she seemed to deliberately not conceal herself.  There was a
moment when she even asked me to pass her the towel, which she'd left
outside, so I needed to step even closer and saw her in just her panties.
They were plain white ones, sports style, non-transparent, I managed to
see. At that point, it became really hard for me to maintain an innocent
dialog!

   "How did you like it?" she asked afterward, obviously making fun of my
earlier enchantment with her body.

   "I liked it a lot," I answered in a mockingly formal tone and was
rewarded with her laughter.

   "Have you seen a black girl naked before, by the way?"

   I confirmed I had not, so I was not only pleased but insanely curious to
discover more.

   "And how much more would you like to discover?" She seemed to be
genuinely interested in my answer, but I suddenly felt shy about my
curiosity and just managed to blurt, "Well...  everything!"

   She wasn't satisfied.  "But what do you really mean by everything?"

   "Well, everything...  personal about you."

   "Tell me in detail?" she asked, her interest seemed piqued and she
sounded genuine, so I, somewhat insecurely, told her 'the details'.

   "Well...  I really want to see your boobs more and see your naked ass
and your pussy.  And I want to see how your pussy looks when you're
aroused, and see your inner lips, and your clitoris and your...  entrance.
I want to see how you masturbate, and all the different sorts of
stimulation you like, and how do you look when you are orgasming, and... 
I'd like even see you peeing..."

   She felt silent for a few steps, and my heart sank.  Then she let out a
small, and, it seemed, embarrassed giggle.

   "Sorry," I managed to say, "Was that too much?  But you did ask."

   And then, in a suddenly changed, lower voice, she answered seriously,
"Hell no, it is such a turn-on...  Thank you for the candidness!" And then,
in a more playful tone, "We'll see what can be done in this regard."

   And so it was, her game started.

   The next time we were at the spring, she stood in the changing area with
her back to me--but this way I saw her entirely--and she even looked around
a few times, to make sure I did.  Then slowly, she took off her swimsuit,
and I saw her nice firm bottom naked for the first time.  She took her time
showing off her behind to me, standing completely naked, drying herself
slowly with a towel, and even spreading her legs a bit, to dry between
them. She looked in her bag for her clothes, and even dressed in the
'wrong' order, first putting on her bra, then a shirt and a sweater, and
only then bent slowly, erotically, to put on her panties and warm pants. 
There was no awkwardness in our conversation this time; we managed to
continue befriending each other, talking about a mix of topics ranging from
the current book one of us read, to how magnificent her derriere looked, to
some university trouble, to whether she has more revealing panties--which
she did, but they waited for warmer weather...  which was approaching.

   She played the game now almost every time, depending on how many people
were around.  She varied her strategies and even took my suggestions on how
to tease better.  Sometimes she stood with her back, and her sweet, firm,
dark ass, to me.  Sometimes, she was half-turned so that I could see her
boobs from the side.  A few times, she was brave enough to stand facing the
exit--and me, but those times, she always managed to stand in a way that I
couldn't see her pubes, only a breast, and a nicely curved thigh or, the
panties she already had put on.  To be fair, the panties did become thinner
and lacier with warmer weather; so, while I had never seen her fully nude
from the front, I noticed that her pubic hair should be wild and very dark.

   When I said how erotically charged it had felt that one time when she
dressed in the 'wrong' order, she started to play on that, too.  How long
could she manage her dressing routine, so that it looked normal to other
women in the room, but left her discretely indecent?  Quite long, as it
turned out: in the most delightfully prolonged version I remember, she
calmly put on the bra, a shirt, a sweater, then her panties--but only
raised them to her knees, then did the same with pantyhose and jeans. 
Fortunately, on this occasion, there actually were no other women in the
other part of the room.  She put on her socks and even her boots, warm
jacket and then proceeded to put her backpack on--and stood there for a few
moments like that.  Just imagine: fully dressed from the waist up and from
the knees down, but with naked ass, which I could adore from a mere two
meters distance.  Then she swiftly turned, simultaneously pulling up her
pants, and I almost managed to see her mons...  but no, it was already
covered.

   Some other time, I noticed a small patch of dark hair sticking out from
her underarm: either I had missed it before, or it had just grown wilder in
the recent weeks.  Without a second thought, I tugged it playfully.  (At
this point, we didn't avoid physical contact completely, but it was just
what friends can do--like throwing a towel on other's shoulders or gently
poking in the back: 'Pool's empty, go swim').  So, I tugged this curly dark
hair, and she just laughed in response, the slightest bit embarrassed. 
"Yeah, I get lazy in the winter, it grows."

   I jokingly asked, "What, everywhere?"

   "Yeah, you can see for yourself if you like!"

   "Well, that's an offer nobody can say 'no' to!"

   So, when she went to change, I was standing almost purposefully (but
only for her) with the line of sight inside the room.  This time, she was
not very playful yet was very deliberate: she stood almost outside of the
covering wall, in the corridor, and simply took off the top half of the
swimsuit.  Then she stuck her thumbs in the waistline of the bottoms
and--after what seemed like a moment's hesitation--took them down, too,
stood upright and froze for a few moments before turning around and
proceeding to dress.  This time, I saw everything, and her bush was as wild
as I'd imagined, just shaven from the sides for the swimsuit.

   "Did you like it?" she asked with a sudden shyness when we walked
through the park, which was almost deserted that day, under a cover of thin
fog.

   "Yes.  Yes, it looks beautiful...  And so different, like it should feel
different, too." As soon as I said that, she took my hand, and stuck it
into the waistband of her jeans, under the jeans and panties, just like
that.  Not very deep, but I felt quite a handful of those thick curly
hairs, and it felt different and lovely, indeed.

   "Thank you," was all I managed to say when she pushed my hand away.

   Since that day, she continued to play her teasing game, with the
difference that I was allowed to see her entire body now.  And also, she
constantly tried to invent new tricks to entertain me--or, rather, us both,
as she seemed as thrilled by everything happening as I was.  I came to
admire her style, how she constantly tried to push her game a bit into an
unknown direction, but never became reckless, always being slow and
careful: her shows always were just for the two of us, however hard it was
to pull it off in a public place.  And she always thought of something new,
in the most delightful way: not to show more every time, but to change the
situations, to alter the expectations.  Some time, say, she started to take
her jeans and panties off from the first step in the corridor (still being
visible for me only, but I had a splendid sight of the naked ass of the
girl who does several small steps forward with her panties around her
knees).  Or went out of the room because she 'forgot' her boots outside,
being dressed only in a long sweater, going just below her ass.  Only from
the short distance could you see how loosely it was knit and that she had
absolutely nothing underneath, except her smooth dark skin, even darker,
erect nipples, and that adorable tangled bush.

   Frequently, she repeated the 'dress in the wrong order' game,
experimenting with styles of clothes, and the order of teasing, like
putting pants on without panties, then making an "Oh, how could I forget?"
face, and taking them off again...

   Then, this one time, a completely new and awesome thing happened.

   It looked like the usual 'wrong order' game at first: a bra, then an
undershirt, then a sweater, both short enough to leave everything below the
waist on show for my grateful eyes.  Then, she put on a coat which she
started to wear lately when the weather improved: the coat was longer than
her winter jackets but much thinner.  Standing there, in an unbuttoned coat
and with naked thighs and legs, she slowly put on some new spring boots,
almost knee-high.  And that was that.  She just buttoned the coat and
turned into a well-dressed city lady, and only I knew she had her ass and
pussy naked under the coat.

   "Wow, that's crazy awesome," was all I managed to say.

   "I know, right?  Shocked myself a bit, honestly," she laughed, "But I
really wanted to try!  I even borrowed my sister's boots, to look... 
decent," and she looked around herself, visibly proud.

   "Aren't you cold?"

   "I am, a bit.  But it actually turns me on.  It makes me focus on those
cold parts."

   "So...  Are you wet right now?" I boldly queried, briefly wondering if I
overstepped the invisible borders of our game.

   But apparently, I hadn't, as she just took my hand in hers and stuck it
right between folds of her coat for the briefest second.  Before I
understood what was happening, it was over, but I knew my fingers brushed
something really hot and very wet.  Without a second thought, I licked them
and said playfully: "With this development, just in a few months, I might
be able to have quite a feel of your body."

   She looked somewhat uneasy.  "Sorry...  I don't want to rush towards
something concrete; I am just enjoying our game."

   "Me too!" I confirmed.  And indeed, however weird it sounds, I didn't
crave to 'have' her, nor did it seem like the start of some serious
relationship.  Just a game, a fabulously unpredictable one, and I wanted it
to stay that way, at least for some time.

   "So, we are good?"

   "We are good!"

   And we continued to talk as we usually did, mix of books, movies,
general "How's life and university and work?" and intimate bodily feelings.
Somehow in this chatter, she managed to casually mention it would be cool
to try diving absolutely naked.  With her fascination with a feeling of
cold against her body, it should be heavenly.

   "Then why don't you do just that?" I said semi-jokingly (how most of our
crazy ideas were discussed).

   "We can just come here in the night.  I believe we might have enough
privacy for that."

   To my surprise and fascination, she was immediately taken by the idea.

   "Can we do it Saturday night?  Like, this Saturday?"

   And we did.

   I met her at the entrance of the park around 2am.  She wore the same
coat and high boots--and I immediately wondered how much she had
underneath. I learned the answer as soon as we reached the changing rooms,
where, thankfully, nobody else was hanging around that night.  Without even
bothering to go too far inside, just one step between the walls, she turned
around, took off the coat, and gave it to me.  She wasn't as naked as I
expected, but not too heavily clothed either.  The boots followed the coat;
she stepped into rubber flip-flops, as we usually do.  Then jeans followed,
then that loose-knit sweater, and that was that.  I had all of her things
in my hands; she was completely naked, no underwear this time.  I put her
clothes on the bench near the changing rooms and took from my backpack the
large towel the size of a bedsheet I brought for the occasion.  I opened
the towel, and she stepped outside, letting me wrap her, hug her with the
towel, and walked her, hugging, to the pool.  There, she shook the towel
off.

   It was a warm spring night, and thin fog covered most of the park.  She
stood there, on the edge of the water, in all her naked glory, for a few
moments, then went in.  She took her time in the pool, dipping, swimming a
couple of laps from one side to another, splashing, and it appeared even
touching herself a few times.  Then she climbed out, and I caught her in
the towel, rubbed her body through it to warm her.  I might've been carried
away a bit with this rubbing, but she didn't mind and even spread her legs
so I could dry her off between them.

   Then, she went to the bench and started to get dressed without bothering
to walk into the changing room--just there, in the open, in a warm fog, in
the night park.  First, she put on long striped socks, and while she did
so, the towel flew open--but again, she didn't mind.  Then she tried to put
on her boots, but it wasn't too easy with an open wet towel hanging from
her shoulders.  So, she just put the towel on the bench and, dressed in
nothing except those long socks, squatted to zip up the boots.  In a small
panic, I looked around--still nobody--so I allowed myself just to enjoy the
view: her squatting in the dim night park light, I almost saw her pussy
lips between all that bush.  After the boots, she put her coat over her
naked body and stuck the rest of the clothes into the backpack.  She didn't
even button up the coat, just tied the belt and gestured that she was
ready.

   Slowly, we went through the park.  The mood was light; she excitedly
described how it felt; I shared some stories about nudist beaches I've been
to and the incredible freedom of touching the water with your naked body.
She answered with light envy and curiosity.  Almost near the park exit, she
turned around, as if making her mind up, and said, "Wait.  There is one
more thing I wanted to try tonight." She walked me to a nearby park bench
and asked, "Can you just hug me?  The way you hugged me through the towel,
that was nice."

   We sat there on a backless bench, side by side.  I hugged her and rubbed
her shoulders and arms.  She opened the coat below the waist and started to
masturbate with both hands.  From my position, I couldn't see what exactly
she was doing.  Still, by her movements, I guessed she probably put a
finger or two deep inside herself and moved them slowly, and with another
hand rubbed her clitoris--not so slowly, but without rush either.  We sat
this way for I don't know how long; at some point, I worked up the nerve
and untied her belt, and it seemed to be a good call; she threw the coat
completely open, took my hand, and put it on her breasts and continued what
she was doing.

   I stood up and changed my position to sit behind her, wrapping her in my
arms.  I slowly massaged her breasts with both hands, just sitting there,
and appreciating the view and the feelings, and observing how her breathing
became harder and harder, and her movements became faster.  Near the end,
she impatiently yanked her hands from the coat sleeves and half-lied there,
onto the coat, in my hands, completely naked, moving both hands furiously.

   And then she came: strongly yet silently, with her legs and the whole
body stretching completely straight and huge spasms going through it for a
minute or two.



   Playing Around The Water Ch.  02

   More games, more show-off, more semi-public masturbation.

   After that delicious incident on the park bench, I half-expected things
would change somehow: either she'd become embarrassed by stepping over the
line (well, some line anyway), or we'd be taking it all to some next level.
Neither has happened, and we seemed both to like it this way.  We still met
only at the spring, three or four times a week; we still were comfortable
talking to each other on a wide range of topics--from books and travels to
body matters and sex; she still played her little games in the changing
room, showing me her slim young body from various angles and positions. 
Though, something did change after my cautious question--and even then, not
on our next meeting, only in a week or so, when she raised the topic
herself.

   That day, her changing room game was outstandingly long: she spent maybe
several minutes completely naked, just sitting on a bench pretending to
answer something urgent on her phone.  I knew she just pretended: she was
casting glances at me and made sure my eyes were caught by a space between
her slightly spread legs--still teasing, still I could see nothing except
the hair.  After she finally got dressed and we walked our usual route
through the park, she pointed at the bench where we sat 'that' night and
with sudden tenderness said, "Oh, this place...  I still dream of it."

   "So," I asked, getting the sense that the topic was open for discussion,
"How was it for you?"

   "Incredible," she said brightly.  "Better than I could've imagined.  The
weirdness of it added a hundred percent to the pleasure!"

   And that quick exchange seemed to lower some barriers in her, because on
our next meetings she started to talk about it, too: how she likes to be
half- or fully aroused in "weird" situations, "You know, not always go all
the way, but..." She talked about how she is constantly searching for new
ways of touching and feeling herself and her enthusiasm for subtly
different experiences every time.  She got carried away sometimes sharing
those experiences so that I even needed to shush her when there were other
people around.  You never know who might understand English here, and a lot
of people could've noticed the profound gestures she sometimes made.

   At first, she shared just some simple things she did to herself at home,
but in very precise detail.

   Like, she might have said, "Yesterday, just before sleep, it was whole
four fingers, so deep, so cool, almost an hour.  Very slow and such a
powerful orgasm!"

   "How many fingers do you usually use?" I might've asked then.

   "It was usually two some time ago...  But recently, it is almost always
at least three.  I am tight, but I like to push things a bit further!"

   "Yeah, I've noticed," I smiled slyly.

   At other times, she just casually shared--between talks about books or
some new cafe she found in the city center--mere facts, like "Today, in the
early morning, I did myself with a shower, quick and fun." Or, "It's THAT
day of the cycle, I am planning a masturbation fest for the evening!  Will
see how many orgasms I can bring myself to," and, the next day, "It was
five!  Can you believe that?"

   Later, she started to share more peculiar adventures.  I don't know
whether she was just shy talking about that initially, or she actually just
started to experiment, but anyway, it was pleasant to know the things she
could think of.

   "Today, at the lecture in my university, I was at the very last table
and had my backpack on my knees.  I didn't even plan anything naughty, just
noticed my left hand in my jeans, just sat this way till the end of the
lecture, played with my clit lightly."

   Or, on another day, "I was in a fitting room in that large mall's jeans
section, and they have such an awesome mirror and cool lighting.  I did
almost nothing, I swear...  I just took my panties down, put two fingers in
my vagina, and another one, you know...  'in there'.  Just showed off a
bit, for myself; it looked so exciting."

   ("Oh, so she likes to play with 'there' too," I thought to myself, "With
her ass." You see, I did want to know everything about her sexuality.)

   She also enhanced and varied her games in the spring.  She could put on,
for example, very tight and thin pants and a thin sweater on naked skin, no
underwear, then cover herself with the coat (that same coat!) and go for a
walk.  Then she allowed the coat to fall open when only I could see--from a
very close distance--her pants are unbuttoned and show a fair bunch of her
pubic hair, and her nipples are erect and clearly visible through the
sweater.  And I still needed to continue the conversation, in the meantime!

   She changed her previous full swimsuit to the new one, made of thin
straps and small triangles to cover just a mound and breasts.

   "Oh, it was a fun purchase," she delivered matter-of-factly, "I knew you
aren't supposed to do that when trying swimsuits, but I knew I'd buy this
one, so I got completely naked in the fitting room, then put it on, and
just masturbated through the panties, to a very quiet ending."

   With this new garment, she could now play new games: when there were few
people around, the top slipped 'accidentally' when she stood from the pool,
showing me a nipple; or, she 'adjusted' her bottoms in front of me, teasing
with a hint of hair, or even a quick glimpse of something pink.  Other
times, she tugged the panties up till the crease was formed between her
legs and even stealthily ran a finger through this crease.

   She seemed to love her new swimsuit and once came to the spring already
wearing it--under the coat, with nothing else.  She admitted she walked
like that through the city and even rode on a bus: nobody saw anything, but
she felt pleasantly indecent.  That same day, on my advice, she walked back
from the park just in her lacy underwear under that coat; naturally, in a
few days, she went off in just her coat, with nothing underneath
whatsoever.

   I really got into her casual masturbation talks and even managed to give
her small ideas sometimes.  And sometimes, not such small ones.  I asked
once that she never mentioned playing with objects--inside or outside
herself.

   She regretfully admitted she missed it: "I had a full drawer of sex toys
at home but traveling with them is too awkward.  I planned to find some
local online sex shop with an English interface and with mail delivery,
probably, but haven't yet gathered the courage."

   "It's a pity," I agreed, and then hesitantly asked: "have you tried just
some everyday objects?  Probably you can find something that will entertain
you quite easily, even without the sex shops?"

   She seemed genuinely surprised with the idea: "How come I never thought
of that myself?  Well, I started to really explore my sexuality when I was
grown-up and confident enough to just walk into the sex shop...  But now
that you mention it, I will probably look at things.  It's weird, but weird
in a good sense!"

   And right the next time we met, she casually greeted me with a big grin
and words: "Cucumber!  And a shampoo bottle!"

   I laughed with surprise: "Do you really think it sounded inconspicuous
for anybody knowing a few words in English?"

   She attempted to look self-conscious but then just laughed back: "OK,
I'll share the details later!"

   "Looking forward to it!"

   Probably to get herself in the mood for "sharing the details," she again
went bottomless: bra, thin sweater, high boots, and a coat: but now much
lighter one than on the previous occasions, as the temperature just jumped
up a few cozy degrees.  So, I followed her through the park two steps
behind to admire how the thin coat clung to her firm bottom.  Even though I
have just seen that same bottom hidden only by a swimsuit, and then
completely naked, seeing her in public, in daylight, all those curves under
one layer of the coat--that was something special.

   It was a Saturday, with no work or university to rush to, and we sat on
one of the park benches to chat for a bit--about the latest book I
suggested to her (which she liked) and then about her latest escapades, of
course.

   She reported without a hint of shyness and totally straightforwardly:
"So, I just bought several cucumbers not to look suspicious.  Then choose
the nicest one--not huge, but on a bigger side...  Probably size of the
biggest toy I had at home, and my favorite!"

   "And then what did you do?  I want to know everything," I encouraged,
trying to keep my tone light.  I hoped she'd understand what I really meant
is I am happy to know everything she is comfortable sharing.  Oh, and also,
I really hoped for those details, but I didn't want to put pressure on her.

   And she continued, equally lightly, "Nothing too complicated.  I was
already wet by the time I dropped my pants and sat in my favorite computer
chair.  For a few minutes, I just probed myself with it, and it felt... 
interesting, in a good way!  Not like something I've already tried, all
those tiny pimples and uneven shape.  I was so wet, and it was so
interesting, it took just a few minutes for it to be inside me as deep as
it was possible--and it was long, too, so part of it was still outside. 
Then I removed my hands from it, and just rolled my hips in the chair, and
pushed it with my...  you know, inside muscles, rolled forward, so it
entered deeper, then rolled backward and pushed it out, but not fully out,"
she now explained in quick succession.  I noticed she rolled on her hips
forward and backward slightly, like demonstrating what she had done, but
without anything inside (probably!  But with this girl, I wasn't sure).

   But then she caught herself, and giggled and proceeded more calmly,
"Well, that's all I did, but I did it for a long time, and the orgasm was
mighty, but I tried to continue the motions, it is hard but feels nice if
you continue what you did before it started!"

   "Yeah, know the feeling," I blurted, somewhat out of place.

   "And with the shampoo bottle, it was just a morning quickie in the
shower.  I didn't even plan it; just after our discussion, I started to
look at every item in my house, considering briefly, 'can I?' The bottle
was small and flat, and I just grabbed it at some point and tried to insert
it.  It fitted nicely, but instead of moving it in and out, I just tried to
rotate it, you know.  And in standing position, it managed to stimulate
something inside me with each rotation, and I came quickly, and I laughed
when I came because I thought that it was like I was screwing something
inside myself...  I am screwing myself, get it?"

   I got it and laughed together with her.  When we started towards the bus
stop, I went a step behind her again to observe her ass and noticed a wet
spot on her coat.  The benches were dry, so the wetness must have been her
own; the talking had obviously seriously turned her on.  I said nothing
about the spot, and we parted in a good mood.

   Apparently, she was turned on, and that wasn't all for that day.

   Just a few days ago, we exchanged our messenger contacts to make it
easier to arrange meetings.  And in half an hour from our parting the ways,
my messenger chimed with a message from her: "Phew, finally came!"

   "You came home?" I clarified innocently.

   She was all but innocent: "I came home yes, and I came AT home.  I am
standing in my flat, still clothed, with a banana in my pussy, and I came
nicely, too!" And then she even sent a photo.  It shows no private parts,
but sexy as hell: the camera shows her from the neck down, indeed in her
coat and boots, but with a tip of banana peeking out between the coat
folds.

   Since that day, the messenger has become another vehicle for our
conversation and our games.  It was hardly frequent--more like a
substitution when we haven't met for several days due to her busy spring
studying schedule.  Even less frequently, it was something sexy or teasing;
mostly, we just exchanged some jokes, life news, or interesting links.  But
sometimes she got into the mood for a quick tease, just text, no more
photos (that is, until much later), something as matter-of-factly stated as
she liked to do.

   "Busy day," she might write, answering my greeting, "too much study, my
head was so heavy.  But it is better now, and I am touching myself to
relax."

   "Cool," I'd answer, "and how exactly are you doing it?"

   "Passionately," she'd say and send "tongue stick out" teasing emoji,
"with both hands, actually!  I managed to stick three fingers from both
hands inside, not very deep though, but feel so awesomely full."

   "Wait there!" I'd interjected, "how are you typing it then?"

   "Caught me out!" One more emoji.  "I am typing it with very wet hands
and feeling very empty right now!  So I'll be silent for some time...  But
you can write me something...  Entertaining"

   And I'd entertain her with some imaginary tale, and after some time,
she'd just type "Thanks!  That big O is dedicated to you!  Good night."

   Another evening, she mentioned (after a good half hour discussion about
a recent movie) that all this time, she sat naked from the waist down and
had a cucumber inside her and just orgasmed.  "It felt naughtier today that
you do not know until the end."

   "BTW, you said you are living with your sister?  Didn't she notice?  Or
she is not at home?"

   "Why yes, she is right here, at the other end of the room, studying her
math.  But she doesn't mind."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah.  We were always very close and never minded.  She might
actually," the message came half-written, and then the next one in a few
seconds, "yeah, she has one hand inside her shorts definitely.  Not the
first time we have done it, we are very close, I've said."

   "Just masturbating together?"

   "Well, rarely actually 'together', like looking at each other and
deciding to do it...  But in the same room, yes.  Or are you asking if we
did anything else?"

   "I kinda am!"

   "No, not actually.  She is into girls, all right, but I am totally
straight.  So, it is just cozy sisterly masturbation."

   Another time at the Spring, I suddenly thought about asking her: does
she get aroused when we are at the park?  I mean, she obviously liked to
play for me, but I wanted to hear something more definite about her senses
and bodily reactions--and, maybe, provoke some more games.

   "Oh, I do!" she confirmed.  As I'd expected, changing room games aroused
her irresistibly, but also there were some details I had not expected.

   "When I go down by steps into the pool," she explained, "the moment when
I touch the cold water with my...  well, let's say panties--is always like
a small explosion.  And then, while I am underwater, face-down, I just
brush my vagina lightly over my panties while nobody can see anything.  Or,
sometimes, I brush it inside them," she smiled playfully.

   And indeed, I started to notice now--or maybe she started to do it more
obviously for my benefit--that slight pause and the change of the facial
expression when her panties touched the water for the first time.  And I
also noticed when she dived that one or sometimes two hands were underneath
her, but I couldn't see what they did.

   When I mentioned it, she said very casually, "Oh, I just open myself,
like that," and did a definitive gesture spreading two fingers in the
air--the gesture that looked all but casual for me, increasing my own
arousal, "the feeling of cold clear water at the entrance is incomparable
to anything else."

   It was a good thing that we were fully dressed and walking when that
happened, or my erection might've caused some public embarrassment.

   Once, she mentioned it would probably be awesome to give herself a quick
orgasm in the changing room "that nobody would notice...  or, almost
nobody." And, as it happened with our ideas and half-jokes, since
mentioning that, she started to play with the idea.  Sometimes when she was
dressing, I now noticed she dipped a finger or two inside herself,
pretending to "smoothing out the panties" or "just drying off".  Other
times, when there was nobody in the other part of the changing room, she
would just stop and masturbate: standing near the bench, one hand on a
towel to quickly cover herself if somebody entered, another with two
fingers in the vagina and a thumb on clit, moving quickly.

   Twice she didn't manage to finish before she had to cover herself,
because somebody came to the changing rooms--those times, after getting
dressed as loosely as possible (just jeans, sweater, and boots, no socks,
no underwear) she almost ran to the park's bathroom and finished there.

   "I didn't need to do anything, actually," she said, "once my hand was
inside my jeans and inside myself, that was that."

   But one time, she managed to finish right there, in front of me,
semi-public and still invisible for anybody else, in total silence but
shivering big time.

   But the weirdest--and as it happened, most delightful and
memorable--moment of that spring was yet to come.

   It was a gray cloudy morning, and after waking up, I messaged her
whether she planned to come; there was rain forecast all day.

   "But I want to!" and she added a pouting emoji.  "You said you loved to
swim in the rain, and I want to try it, too!  And I have some other
ideas..."

   The story she mentioned was about me swimming in the warm sea, under the
summer rain--probably wouldn't be so nice now.  But, how could I not go,
especially if she "had ideas"?

   The rain indeed started a few minutes before we arrived at the park.  It
was a typical mid-spring one, not very strong at first, but persistent and
promising to be long, and not too warm.  But I wasn't bothered: the
not-too-warm rain meant the rest of the swimmers hurried away, and we had
the Spring to ourselves.  We quickly changed and went for a dive.  I just
went in and out quickly, but she took her time, considering nobody was
waiting in line.  She seemed to enjoy the unique combination of water in
the pool and the water from above--which, indeed, was pleasant, if
chilling. She splashed, jumped, giggled, swam a few laps back and forth,
and several times, I noticed, put a hand inside her panties, and, judging
by the movement, deep inside herself.

   Finally, she climbed out of the pool slowly, teasingly.  On the pool
steps, she started to fix her swimsuit ties which had come loose and
flashed me one erect nipple, but instead of fixing it, she 'accidentally'
untied it, so it dropped on the ground.  I mean, it was a very severe
accident: both parts of the swimsuit got untied simultaneously, and she,
stark naked, ran to the changing room, giggling at my awe.  Seeing her
naked there in the open in daylight, if only for a few moments, felt
totally surreal--or, to be precise, even more surreal than our usual
encounters.

   I collected her swimsuit and quickly went to women's changing room
entrance--even with no people around, I felt that it was an unspoken
agreement for me to pretend that I was outside and would behave decently,
and it just so happened I could see her naked.  I expected she'd start
implementing her "ideas" now, in the changing room, but she just got
quickly dressed--too cold, probably, to continue the game?  The clothes,
though, were of note: it was a thin and skin-tight sports suit with no
underwear, which immediately got wet from her body, as she didn't even
bother to dry with a towel.  She looked almost as naked dressed as without
any piece of clothing: the bumps of her still-erect nipples were visible,
and almost every pubic hair and the crease between her legs.

   "Get dressed!" she commanded, "I want to walk for a bit."

   We walked towards the further parts of the park, where it was turning
into a small forest.  Still, nobody was around; still, the rain poured,
becoming stronger and, it seemed to me, warmer.  She was in a great mood
and talked about all kinds of things, both regular ("what seaside town in
the country you'd suggest in summer?") and naughty ("I told my sister about
the cucumbers, she tried and asked me to say thanks!").

   Then she noticed I was blowing at my hands that had finally got
cold--the rain wasn't that warm after all.

   "Let me warm you," she said simply and at once pulled her pants down to
her knees and took my hand.

   Awestruck, I thought she'd put it between her legs, but she quickly
added: "Just don't touch me there yet, OK?" and lowered our hands a few
centimeters below her vagina.  Almost immediately, she started to pee in a
clear, strong, warm stream.

   I was in heaven.  It was so out of this world, so intimate, so simple,
such a rich variety of senses and feelings: cold rain, her warm liquid, her
naked ass and pussy, her giggling with a note of slight embarrassment.

   I put the other hand on her lower back tenderly, and asked "and here? 
Can I touch you here?"

   "Yes, please!"

   And so we stood, she peeing, me caressing her ass cheeks and flat firm
belly, and adoring the moment.  The peeing stopped, and I continued my slow
touching, every centimeter of naked skin, but not "there" yet, and she
spread her legs and turned around, giving me more access.  I don't know how
long it continued, but eventually, the rain turned into a shower, and gusts
of wind started to throw it almost horizontally.

   Then, she turned to a tree and bent with her ass stuck towards me,
holding the tree trunk for support, like an invitation.  I somehow felt it
was still an invitation to play, not to have sex, and I guessed what she
probably wanted, so I sat behind her, and spread her cheeks with both
hands, so that she was open to the rain now, and to my gaze.  Feeling
almost drunk, I still managed to notice and appreciate her intimate
features I never before saw so closely and clearly: large clit, thin and
delicate rose petals of inner labia, the open entrance which the rain now
half-beat, half-caressed.  She started to moan loudly, and masturbated her
clit, and came in a few seconds, and I had an incredible view of her vagina
contracting and her body shivering.  She didn't stop at that and continued
to quickly and strongly stroke her clit and brought herself to two more
orgasms.

   After that, she stood back up, and we hugged tightly and remained this
way--she with her pants still around her ankles and sweater raised to her
shoulders, shivering from orgasms, me shivering too, from cold and
fascination, with the firmest erection I can remember.



   Playing Around The Water Ch.  03

   Exhibitionistic games continue, through video-calls now.

   After our intense encounter in the rain, we hadn't seen each other in
person for some time: at first, she needed to go to her home country, and
then, just one day before her return, my work sent me to another city for
two weeks.

   We continued to chat almost daily.  During her visit home, it was just
brief "How's everything" chats--she was after all, busy with her family;
but then, when she returned to my city, and I went away, she had more time
to spend texting.  Between my work and her university, we still had plenty
of time to continue to get to know each other--and to continue the teasing
game.

   With the same casualness as always, she described her little adventures.
Like, "Today I was at the spring again, and remembered our frolicking, and
became so horny I accidentally put three fingers deep into myself while
toweling...  I think the other girl noticed, but she didn't seem offended."
Or, she might write, "Taking a bath right now."

   "And?" I inquired.  "Are you doing something with yourself?"

   "I planned to!" she wrote.  "But I was so horny all day that I came just
while undressing.  It happens sometimes.  And it was a big one, too, I
almost fainted.  So, I am just relaxing now."

   Another time, she went further with this kind of dialog.  We were just
finished discussing a park in a city I was in (no Spring, sadly!) when she
suddenly typed, "BTW, I recently started to like four fingers in me.  Still
feels almost impossible and strange, but so much joy."

   "And you are telling me now, because?" I typed back, as usual,
half-joking, half-hoping.

   "Because I am doing it right now, yes," she responded with wide grinning
emoji.

   "And you are turned on more by talking to me at this moment, right?"

   "Of course!  I even learned to do it with my left hand, so I can still
use a keyboard.  Sorry for slow typing, though!"

   I responded with a very happy smiling emoji, unsure how to continue this
dialog.  But she took care of that herself: "Actually, I might send a
naughty photo to you if you wish?"

   "I most definitely do!"

   But the photo she sent wasn't particularly naughty--or even indecent. 
It was just a selfie of a girl (a very pretty one, I admit!) in a large
t-shirt, sitting behind the table.  Her left hand is under the table, and
the posture looks a bit weird, but other than that, everything looks
normal.

   "Hmm, but is it naughty?" I asked, confused but anticipating the answer.

   "It is!  The t-shirt is my only piece of clothing, and it is up to my
waist.  My legs are spread very wide and pressed against the wall.  Four
fingers are deep inside me.  I am close to coming.  And right before taking
the photo, I spotted a thin marker pen on my table and stuck it into my
ass. Is that naughty enough for you?"

   "When you put it like that, it is!" I responded.

   "Hooray!  Am I allowed to come now?" she asked, suddenly playing the
obedient girl which she for sure is not.

   "Hmmm...  let me think," I played.  "OK, you are!"

   For a minute after that, I observed "typing..." notification, trying to
imagine what she might type, and then my messenger window was filled with a
long string of just the letter "a" spanning a few lines.

   "I just held the button through the whole orgasm," she explained in a
minute.  "so you kinda heard me screaming."

   "But did you?  I mean, did you scream for real?"

   "Ugh," she sent a blushing shy emoji, "I am afraid I did.  Sister is
slightly irritated now.  I think she was watching some dumb TV show.  Well,
was that naughty enough for you?"

   "Totally!" I agreed emphatically, "Send me more!" And then I quickly
added, not wanting to seem too greedy or pushy, "When you have time and
you're in the mood, of course!"

   "I will," she promised with a few more emojis.

   And she did as she promised!  She sent pictures almost every day since
that evening--still in the same style of "No indecent body parts visible,
but something indecent definitely happens." I think I understood why she
chose this way--besides her natural love for teasing.  It probably just
felt safer for her that way--she didn't exactly mistrust me, but still, to
send your naked pics to somebody, where they can be saved, stolen,
published--it felt too much at that moment.  As for me, I was happy with
any idea that worked for her, and how could I not be?

   The very next evening she replayed the scene from the previous one, and
sent me a new photo: this time, the camera of her phone looked under the
table.  The hem of her t-shirt covered the pubic area, but the picture was
sexy as hell: her naked legs were widespread, knees bent, and her left
hand, judging by the position, did something deep and intense under the hem
of the t-shirt.

   "A candle in the pussy, and three fingers, small finger fully in the
ass," she confirmed and even sent me the picture of the candle she used: it
was something festive, thick and twisted, with spiral edge and golden
sparkles, and it was very visibly wet for maybe 20 centimeters, starting
from the wide bottom end.

   "I like how your wetness looks on it," I wrote, and at that moment, the
compliment didn't seem weird at all.

   "I like it myself," she responded quickly.  "This time of the cycle, it
is so thick and lavish," and followed with the picture of two spread
fingers with strings of fluid between them, and the next one--of her pretty
face with same fingers deep in her mouth.

   And a photo of her evening masturbation session was sent almost every
night.  But there were also others.

   She photographed herself in her apartment's hall, fully clothed, when
she had just returned from university--and followed with pictures of a
growing pile of clothes on the floor: coat, then sweater on top of it, then
jeans, undershirt, and on the last photo her panties and bra were on top of
the pile, her naked legs standing beside it and visible up to almost top of
her thighs.

   Later that night: photo from the hall again, she is standing there
clothed again, but with open coat and unzipped jeans; the jeans are soggy
at the crotch and thighs.

   "Remember we discussed this fantasy?" she commented.  (I did!) "After a
nice walk and a lot of tea in the cafe, I peed myself deliberately in the
empty yard in front of my building entrance.  And it turned me on so much,
I ran to my fifth floor with a hand in my panties and orgasmed on my floor
before entering the apartment."

   "You are crazy!"

   "I am...  when I have a partner to play with."

   I felt elated the entire evening after this confession.

   On Saturday (free day, no university!), she sent me a long, slow series
of pictures from her bathroom.  In the first one, a stool stands by the
edge of the bath (where she is apparently laying, but I can't see her), and
on that stool, a bunch of things arranged of various shapes and sizes:
hairbrush, several spoons, three cucumbers, potato masher, a box of
markers, empty wine bottle...  It took her almost two hours to send me
follow-up photos with each of the items used, wet from her and the water,
one by one.  Well, in fact, not all of them was one by one: according to
the order of photos, after some warming-up with smaller and more usual
things like hairbrush and cucumber, she inserted (and then removed and
photographed) all of ten markers at once, then four large spoons, then
potato masher.  She ended with a wine bottle, and after a good ten-minute
pause, declared the arrival of a powerful orgasm and testified it with the
photo of the wet bottle.  Of course, as she did it all in the bath, the
entire bottle was wet, but I thought I could tell where her slightly opaque
juices covered the glass.

   I boldly wrote, in slight disbelief, "Did you really insert it
bottom-first?"

   "I did!" she confirmed.  "Not at once and not from the first attempt,
but I was on heat!  It looked incredible inside," she teased, and I shied
from requesting her to show how exactly it looked.

   On Saturday, the photo was simple, but with a twist: just, again, naked
legs, photographed by somebody probably half-lying in a low chair.  The
legs were tensely straight, as if during the orgasm, and a pile of clothes
(including panties) laid on the floor in disarray, as if thrown down in a
hurry.  The twist was: there were two pairs of naked legs of orgasming
girls, sitting across from each other.

   "Sister was in the mood, played together," was all she wrote about it.

   Then the work week started, and she became brazen.  She sent me a photo
from university: in a large half-empty amphitheater lecture hall, she sat
behind the last desk.  In the picture, I saw what she had seen: the desk
itself and the auditorium in front of it, with the professor writing some
formula on a blackboard and the backs of several disinterested students. 
And also, I saw what happened under the desk: her unbuttoned jeans and the
left hand deep inside them.

   "Cucumber inside, playing with it," she explained briefly and without
emojis--she also tried to follow the lecture.

   "Do you plan to orgasm right there?" I wrote cautiously.

   "Don't know, just touching it.  Don't distract me!"

   ("From which of the activities," I wondered but didn't write.)

   "Yeah, orgasmed in the end," a more relaxed answer came in half an hour,
"had to imitate a severe coughing fit to hide the other sounds!" (It was
before COVID, my poor reader!  Today, some people would probably rather
imitate orgasm to hide a coughing fit sometimes.)

   "It was suddenly intense," she continued, "usually I come moderately in
such situations, if at all." ("Usually?  How frequently?" I wondered, but
again left the thought to myself.) And she finished with several kissing
emojis: "I think it because I wrote to you, it made me more excited!" as if
making up for the stiffness of her previous messages.

   In a couple of days, she sent the photo from the same desk again--but
now, she was in a knee-high, wide skirt, and the picture showed her panties
taken down to below the knees.

   "Do you have a cucumber inside today?" I asked.

   "Yep."

   "Ugh, you sure you won't get wet spots on the part of the skirt you sit
on?" I asked, half-teasingly, half with genuine care: I liked to play with
her and appreciated her courage, but I didn't want any problems or
embarrassment for her.

   "I am not sitting on it," she wrote, and to confirm, sent me a photo
from another angle.  Apparently, she spread the skirt around the seat of
her chair and sat on that university chair with her naked body.  I also
noticed that her left hand was now behind her, under the skirt.

   "Isn't it unhygienic?" I asked (ever-caring, you see!), "And also, what
are you doing with your hand?"

   "Don't worry, I used sanitizing tissues thoroughly," she answered
calmly, almost formally.  "As for your other question, I am putting my
spare pen into my ass."

   She didn't orgasm this time, she told me later--sometimes she just
wanted to sit (teehee) on the edge, so she just sat there with the pen and
cucumber, with panties around her ankles, and did her best to follow the
lecture.  I received one more photo: an empty chair with a big wet spot and
a medium-sized cucumber on it.

   The next day, the photos were sent from a small, curtained dressing room
of a big clothing shop.  Without comments (she probably was busy with the
clothes), she sent me several with a few minutes gap between them.  The
first one had a dressing room stool with all of her day clothes on it (bra
and panties on top of the pile), and a full-length mirror, which showed her
naked body, but only a side of it: a shoulder, a side of one boob, a thigh,
a leg.  Next, she posed in various clothes she tried: fitting jeans (and
nothing else, but with her back to the mirror), a t-shirt going just a
centimeter lower than her pussy (I think I even caught a glimpse of her
unruly pubic hair beneath a t-shirt), thin white semi-transparent shirt
(again, going lower than her thighs, but with nipples and pubes visible as
dark shadows), and so on.

   "OK, any ideas what interesting thing I can do next?" she wrote
eventually.  "Can't masturbate; the shop is too small and silent.  And as
luck would have it, no interesting things in my backpack, to walk away with
something inside me."

   After a small hesitation, I suggested: "Have you ever tried to put your
panties inside yourself?  Some girls like it."

   "Oh," was all she sent.  And then, a picture: she stood in front of the
mirror in her own blouse.  It covered her mons, but beneath it, the small
part of white panties was hanging between her legs.  "I like it," she
commented, "I'll go home with them inside.  Good idea, thanks!"

   This public-but-not-public play in a shop's dressing room somehow
felt--for both of us--closest to our Spring experiences.  She talked about
repeating it but acknowledged it didn't seem right to go to the dressing
rooms just to play, and she didn't need more clothes at the time--she
bought most of what she tried and was pretty happy with it.

   So, instead, for the next series, she chose a bathroom of some fancy
cafe.  It was a large private room, with a toilet, a sink, a few coathooks,
and a mirror above the sink so that the girl could've fixed her makeup or
adjusted her stockings in privacy.

   In the first photo of the series, she stood with her back to the mirror,
holding a phone near her shoulder and photographing the mirror.  It
probably took her a few tries to get the photo right; it looked very
well-staged.  Near the mirror on the hook, all of her clothes were hanging
again (with the panties on top of everything to remove any doubt).  I could
see in the mirror her back and just the beginning of her naked buttocks.

   "Like it?" she inquired.

   "A lot!" I confirmed, "Have something in mind?"

   "A lot!" she echoed and sent the next picture.

   Almost everything was the same, but now she held her other hand raised
to the shoulder too, and in that one, she had a deodorant stick with its
cap on and a thick marker.  I guessed the next photo and was right: the
same posture, but the hand with deodorant and marker were invisible. 
Several more photos followed.  Despite her promise of "a lot" being on her
mind, she either bluffed or just got carried away with the first idea she
tried because all of the photos weren't that different.

   As far as I could guess, she just inserted deodorant in her vagina and
marker in her ass and masturbated with them, trying to continue
photographing and sending in the process.  It was like a very slow private
video.  Her posture changed slightly; the phone went slightly up and down,
the elbow of her "working" hand showed sometimes...  I'd even call it a bit
monotonous, but my imagination built the rest.  The last photo was
different--it could've been pornographic were it not so blurry: probably,
she did a step forward while orgasming, and the reflection caught her to
mid-thigh, but at the same time, she was moving, and I could only guess by
the contours what I see: her bent forward with legs spread slightly, one
hand covering the crotch area, dark line of the marker sticking out between
fingers, other hand raised above, still photographing.

   "Ugh, sorry for that," she sent later, with a "blushing shy" emoji.  "I
just wanted to send how my face looks during orgasm, but it overtook me,
and that's what happened.  Don't tell anybody, OK?"

   She added a few smiling emojis, but I understood what she really
said--even with her face invisible and the body blurry, it was the first of
her full-body photos I had, and she was insecure about it.

   "Never!" I confirmed, "I can even delete it if you want...  Though I
really like it, somehow."

   "You can keep it then."

   The last several days of my trip were pictureless, "due to natural
reasons," as she stated with mock prudishness.  Instead, we got back to
just talk to each other, which, between my job, her university, and new
ways to do teasing photos, we didn't have much for the last week.  It was
late spring, her university lectures were ended, and she had half a month
to prepare for her final test before graduation.  It is called a "defense
of the diploma" in our universities: you write a scientific work, then do a
presentation and answer questions in front of the commission.  It meant she
was a bit nervous finishing all the work but also had a more relaxed
overall schedule and could talk to me.

   We managed to catch up on some usual topics like recent books quickly.
Also, in our usual teasing-mocking-roundabout way, we managed to clarify
our relationship status.  We agreed neither of us was romantically into
each other.  It was maybe a beginning of good friendship, and definitely
hell of a fun thing to play, but we didn't look to becoming partners--and
even, probably (though it was left unspoken) to have sex.  It might sound
weird after all I've been describing, but I am a bit old-fashioned in this
regard, and sex is just no good unless you deeply care about your partner.
Other games, though, can be happily played!

   With that question out of the way, we teased each other about the game.
She joked that I'd probably be now bored at the Spring; there was much less
freedom for action there.  And with all we were through, wouldn't it be too
little now, all those few-second glimpses?  I assured her I was still
enthusiastic about seeing her but acknowledged I was half afraid she'll
start to show less (as her photos did, however awesome they were).  She
reassured me it was not the case and promised that she had a lot of new and
exciting ideas and didn't want to lose her appreciative audience.

   "Sending these photos was fun, though," she added.  "Maybe I'll manage
to send something on your last day there.  It should be ummm...  physically
possible then!"

   And she managed, in the final hours of my trip.  I was already at the
airport and wasn't waiting for anything from her.  It was late night
already, when, without any comments, the notification came.  But it wasn't
a chat notification.  It was a video-call request!  I rushed to find
someplace where my screen would be invisible to others and to insert my
headphones, worried she'd give up.  The phone continued to vibrate with the
call, and, with a beating heart, I answered.

   Without any preliminaries, the show started.  In the same "nothing
indecent visible" style again, but it was quite a show indeed!  I could see
the widely spread thighs of a girl lying on her back.  The picture went
almost up to the pussy (in some moves, even pubes showed, but never her
lips).  Her hand appeared in a frame, tugging an edge of
panties--apparently, from inside herself, with a long deep moan, the
panties were fully taken out and laid between her legs.

   Then the same hand appeared in a frame with an eggplant, which looked
quite thick and long, maybe eight or ten centimeters in the widest place,
and good thirty-five centimeters in length.  Slowly it was pointed towards
the edge of the frame; slowly, it touched her behind the edge.  The hand
started to rock it, and roll it, and push it, and at first, it moved
nowhere, but then she probably became wetter and spread her lips with
another hand (a few fingers appeared for a moment), and then it started to
go further, and further, and further, and almost impossibly far, and then
slowly out again, now wet.

   It reappeared in the frame in its full length, and the mark of wetness
covered it almost entirely, maybe 25-28 centimeters.  Then it went in
again, out again.  Slowly, then quicker.  Wet sounds, smacking, and moaning
filled my ears.  It continued only for a few minutes, and then the call
ended.  I assumed something was wrong with the connection, or she had a
second thought about sharing her masturbation session and that that was it
for today.

   But in a few seconds, a picture came which showed just a pretty face of
a beautiful girl in the middle of the intense orgasm, eyes shut, mouth
open, head thrown back.  And a minute after that, another picture: her
whole naked body.  She was lying on her side now, in a fetal position,
hugging her knees raised to her chest.  Neither nipples nor pussy were
visible, but the tip of an eggplant that still peeked out behind her very
much was.

   "How did you like it?"

   "It was INCREDIBLE.  Thank you so much!"

   "My sister is a good camera operator, right?" she smiled.  "Safe trip,
see you at the Spring!"



   Playing Around The Water Ch.  04

   Finally, I was back in my home city and couldn't wait to meet the girl I
became so fond of playing with.  Irritatingly, we couldn't make it for two
more days but at last, agreed to meet.  I was slightly nervous and
seriously excited--as it turned out, I severely missed our real-life
meetings, both the innocent and naughty parts of them.

   But when we finally met, I couldn't recognize her for a few seconds. 
And if I managed to, it was mostly by reasoning: it was implausible for
another beautiful Black girl to be at the Spring and greeting me warmly. 
But she looked different now.

   First, she was dressed in some official dark-blue pantsuit, which looked
great on her.  But more strikingly, her head was completely shaven!  At
first, I was lost for words, and only after some deep breaths, gathered
myself enough to tell to her--incoherently, excitedly--how great she
looked. And I said it wholeheartedly: her black head with impeccable
shining skin made her look like some perfect creature from another world.
She seemed to be quite pleased with my reaction and relieved,
too--apparently, she was never sure I'd like it.

   While she changed into a swimming suit, I couldn't perform our peeping
game: numerous girls, maybe some sports team, were crowding around the
women's dressing room.  Maybe it was for the best; after several weeks of
separation, I was overwhelmed to observe her fully dressed, and even more
so in her thin red swimsuit.

   While waiting in line for the pool, I complimented her shaving a few
more times, and she explained: "Yeah, it is my summer form: I like to have
everything shaven."

   "Everything, like...  everything?" I caught a hint to play.

   "Everything!" she confirmed and, for the briefest moment, tugged the
front of her panties from her body so that I could have a glimpse of the
same silky smooth black skin on her mound.  I responded with more
compliments, and she laughed contentedly.

   Between two dips in the pool, we chatted for a bit.  She said that now,
with a few weeks before the conclusion of her diploma, she had to go to the
university and consult with various teachers almost daily, which explained
her official dressing style, and she wouldn't have too much time to spend
at the spring.  Somehow the talk turned back to her shaving, and I asked
her permission to touch her head and did so, fondly, tenderly.  It felt as
good as it looked, and I couldn't help but joke how good should it feel to
touch her other shaven places.  She simply took my hand--I briefly wondered
whether she became crazy enough to put it into her panties--in a
crowd?--and stuck it into her smooth underarm: a gesture both funny and
intimate.

   Soon it was time to get dressed.  The sports team left, so now I could
watch her dressing--and she was visibly glad to be observed.  She took off
her swimsuit bottoms first, standing with her face to me, so I could see
everything.  After that, she sat on a bench's edge, so I could still see
her, and even pretended she had a splinter in her foot: raised it to her
knee, and sat this way, with legs widespread and pussy fully on display. 
Even from my pretend-to-be-decent distance, I had a great view and took it
in for half a minute.  I tried to memorize where the black of her skin gave
way to the rose color of her inner lips, noticed her clitoral hood is of
darker color, observed her opening that looked wet and becoming more open
and wetter as I looked.  Then, she took off her swimsuit top and started to
dress.

   Truth to be told, she didn't overdo that dressing part.  Just thin suit
pants--over the naked and not even toweled thighs; the pants clung to them
immediately; then the matching jacket.  No underwear, no blouse under the
jacket.

   "Are you going to university dressed like that?" I asked hesitantly.  It
didn't look indecent but didn't look quite decent either.  Dark material
didn't show any dumpiness, and a long jacket covered her thighs--but the
fact that she didn't have anything under the jacket would have been evident
at a closer distance.

   But she just smiled mysteriously, and we went through the park, jumping
into our usual everything-mixed-together conversation: How was the flight?
Was that city I traveled to, nice?  Had she had time for watching these new
sci-fi series?  Was it painful to use the eggplant that big?  ("Strangely,
it wasn't at all.  Somewhat scary at the start, but easier than I expected,
and really intense.")

   Almost near the park exit, she suddenly stopped: "Oh, I need to pee."

   I obediently turned to go to the park's bathrooms, but she had something
else in mind.  Pretending--at least I think she pretended--her need was too
urgent, she pointed at some nearby bushes: "Can we try this?" and hurried
towards them.

   I followed a step or two behind.  She quickly reached a small clearing,
secluded by thick bushes, shoulder-high.  I stayed a few steps away, trying
to provide privacy, but she called: "I need some help here."

   I was glad to follow her to the clearing.  It was surprisingly private
for the park; the only narrow entrance was from the side we came from.  I
quickly understood that if she sat, she will be completely invisible--and
me standing at the entrance would protect her from anybody suddenly coming
our way.

   "Have you done this before?" I guessed.

   "No, it didn't feel safe here alone.  But I did plan it."

   Staying with her face towards me, she slowly took off her pants
completely and gave them to me to hold.  Then she squatted, becoming
invisible from outside, and unbuttoned and gave me her jacket too.  Fully
naked, smoothly shaven, with her knees spread wide, she relaxed and started
to pee in a strong, clear stream.  She looked into my eyes all the time,
but I didn't always hold her gaze--my eyes wandered towards her breasts,
towards her pussy, observed the sunlight dancing in a golden stream of
urine.  She visibly enjoyed the experience and my attention, and even
fondled her breasts and spread her pussy lips for me to see.  We were in a
small clearing, so she was only a couple of feet from me.  I enjoyed the
moment too and wasn't shy to say so, to say how magical she looked, to
praise the golden sunshine dance.

   She finished, but hadn't rushed to dress.  She took a tissue from her
large tote bag and dried herself.  Then from the same bag, she took a bra
and put it on, then the blouse.  Finally, she took a jacket from my hands,
threw it on her shoulders, and stood up, buttoning.  It was a lovely sight,
too--fully dressed businesswomen from shoulders to thighs, naked pussy and
sightly spread legs below.

   "I need your help with my panties," she said calmly.

   I stepped towards her, assuming she wanted me to hold her to help
maintain balance while putting them on, but she said: "They are...  there,"
and spread her pussy lips with one hand.

   I didn't even understand at first, so she needed to clarify: "But please
take them out VERY slowly."

   I was more than happy to comply.  I first put a palm on her tummy under
the blouse, observing her reaction, reminding myself to remember all the
details of this first time of slow touching.  Slowly, I moved my fingers to
her mound.  It was silky, silky skin, unbelievably smooth and totally
different from anything I ever touched.  Then, my fingers traveled to her
hard and trembling clit, then lower, to where she was so wet, so open.

   "You are so smooth," I said.  And then just, almost as if trying to calm
her: "There, there," as three of my fingers plunged into her.  "There,
there," I repeated, moving them even deeper, till I felt the thin lacy edge
of the panties inside her.  She exhaled audibly and murmoured, "Slower...
slower."

   I started to pull very slowly, making rhythmical motions in and out of
her, just for a few millimeters; with every move, the panties were closer
to her opening.  She fondled my hand that fondled her, and rocked her hips,
and moaned sometimes, and then licked fingers of the other hand and put it
behind her, and while I moved my fingers outside of her vagina, I started
to feel her fingers moving inside her anus.

   In a few moments, the edge of her panties and my fingers finally were
outside.  She stopped my motions with her hand and said almost pleadingly:
"Stay like this..." Then she started to stroke her clit with one hand and
move another hand behind her back.  In half a minute, she exhaled: "Now..."
and then, urgently, "...pull them out." I yanked the panties free, and at
that moment, she bent down and started to orgasm.  I could see now two
fingers of her left hand were entirely inside her anus and even could
see--or maybe imagined--her body pulsating around them.

   She stood upright and took her panties from my hands (but not before I
sniffed them with an emphatic pleasure).  She put on her panties and pants,
giggling: "Now we need to move fast.  I am criminally late already!"

   Before we rushed towards the buses, I licked my fingers clean--there was
a lot of her thick juices on them, and proclaimed, "You are so sweet!"

   "You too," she giggled again, "in your way!"

   And the last thing she said before we parted, in a more serious tone: "I
really like playing with you.  Thanks."

   ***

   In a few days, we met again.  Again, she was dressed business-like--in
the same blue pantsuit.  "Do you have panties inside yourself, again?" I
playfully asked.

   "Why yes," she confirmed emphatically but then added with a hint of
regret: "But you can't take them out today.  Not that I didn't like it the
last time, but I only have half an hour.  Let's just dive, and I'll need to
run to the university."

   "Oh-kay," I agreed solemnly and then teased her: "No way to confirm they
are inside, then."

   She just smiled.  As usual, we went to changing rooms--I dressed quickly
and took a position to observe her.  She made a point of taking off her
pants slowly, demonstrating there was nothing underneath; then she sat on a
bench, put two fingers inside herself--thankfully there was nobody in the
other part of the room--and pulled out a small edge of black cloth, then
pushed it back in again and proceeded to put on her swimsuit.  When she
changed back in a few minutes, the other part of the room was occupied, so
she needed to mask her actions.  I couldn't see details, but to observe it
was another kind of joy: here, she wrapped her thighs in a towel, then, one
hand dived under the towel, and was quickly pulled back again with a closed
fist; then she pretended to take the panties out of her bag and put them
on. But before that, she sniffed her closed fist, looking in my
direction--just like I sniffed her panties last time.

   Then we rushed away towards the bus, almost running.  But still, she
managed to talk a bit about the "panties inside" experience, how it was her
new favorite thing, and how weird then to put them on, and walking through
the city with panties inside herself feels even more naughty than "walking
with other objects I've tried."

   "What objects?"

   "Oh, no time today, I'll tell you later...  Or maybe I'll show you."

   Everything has happened in the same rushed manner for the next week and
a half.  She brought panties inside herself every time now, and said,
"Panties are inside!" instead of "Hello".  After a few days, just "Red
thong this time," or "Some sports pair, it was hard to put them in fully,
but they feel wonderful." Also, when there was an opportunity, she did
quick yet sensual shows for me, of pulling them out, sniffing, even licking
sometimes; the red thong she put entirely in her mouth before putting them
on.  One day, when she took off her pants, her panties were half-sticking
out already, and she said it was a funny experience, too; the outside part
was pressed to her clitoris with her pants while she walked towards the
spring.  She hesitated for a second and then said she had a small yet
pleasant orgasm when we hugged hello (we were hugging now...  sometimes).

   Between visits to the changing room, while diving and drying off under
the now warm sun, she played with her swimsuit.  With her body completely
shaven and skin color making it hard to distinguish where her private parts
began, she sometimes moved her swimsuit bottoms lower and lower till I've
been saying in mock panic: "A few more millimeters, and you'll be showing
your clit!"--and, if there were no people in the line of sight, she might
for a second, move them below the start of her cleft: "So what?"

   Sometimes, she would sit on a bench beside the pool, and squirm a bit,
cross and uncross her legs so that the swimsuit bottoms would move to one
side--and exactly the moment one puffy outer lip sprung free, she'd cross
her legs, stand up and go to to change.  Some especially early morning,
with nobody close around, she pretended to "fix" her panties during her
descent into the pool--I would watch her uncovering her pussy before
touching the water with it.

   The closer to the diploma final day, the more nervous she got.  But
also, more playful--she openly said it helped her shift focus from her
nervousness; every time we rushed to the bus, we laughed and chatted
energetically about her new ideas.  One time, she sat to dress, as usual,
and took white lacy panties from inside herself...  and then, with a sly
face, pushed her fingers deep inside herself again and took one more pair
of panties--a red thong this time, the same she once put into her mouth. 
Even though I was aroused, I couldn't keep from laughing--and she happily
laughed with me.  And then she put white lacy panties on, dressed up, and
gave me the red thong.

   "You can keep them," she said with an expression that was hard to
decipher--it was playful but also a bit sad.  "Something to remember me by
when I go away after the diploma."

   So, I thought sadly, the farewell was coming--she didn't plan to stay in
my city after graduation.

   Next time, she took panties out of herself, then made the same sly face
and put her fingers inside again.  Is she just repeating herself?  I
wondered.  But she wasn't.  With a casual gesture, she pulled out of her
vagina a bottle of deodorant.  Then, still sitting completely naked and
with her legs spread--I could see her wet and still open vagina--she
unscrewed a bottlecap, applied deodorant to her underarms and under
breasts, screwed the cap back.  She cast a glance, smiled, shrugged, and
put the bottle back inside herself in one smooth move as if it was the most
usual thing to do!  And then she continued to dress.

   "You are going to university with it inside?" I asked.

   "Yup!  A hidden naughty secret makes me much more relaxed about all this
diploma stuff."

   "But doesn't the feeling distract you?"

   "On the contrary!  I found a weird state where I am the most focused and
clear-headed.  I think I'll invent something for the actual exam: I'll need
all the clear-headedness and calm I can manage."

   The diploma day was the next Wednesday.  The evening before, I wrote to
her wishing all the luck I could, and she said she'd like to go to the
spring before the actual event--and if I'd keep her company, it would be
awesome.  But we needed to do it early in the morning, maybe 5 am?  Of
course, I agreed.

   This time, she was wearing a new pantsuit, a light one.  And even if I
was honestly focused on her big day and her nervousness, I couldn't help
but notice the slightly visible lines of her underwear.

   She was nervous almost to the point of tears, and I made my best effort
to reassure her she'd be a star.  I didn't know much about her diploma, but
I did know about the value of reassurance and the weight of somebody
saying, "I believe in you." But even then, I couldn't keep up from
commenting: "I see your panties are on, have you changed your mind about
'inventing something'?"

   She giggled: "I didn't!  Thanks for reminding me; I've planned it for a
long time and almost forgot at the last moment."

   We changed into our swimsuits, quickly dived, and changed back.  She was
silent, serious, and not very playful--though when she changed to a
swimsuit, she wasn't shy either and as there wasn't a living soul around at
this early hour, she even stood closer to me than usual.

   But while changing back, she started to put her "plan" in motion.  She
quickly took off her bottoms, sat on a bench, moved her ass to the wall,
then raised her feet to stand on a bench beside her on both sides, leaving
her legs widely spread, and started to masturbate.  Without any rush, but
with a pointed urgency, she stroked her clit with one hand, and touched her
opening with three fingers of the other, then started to move them inside.
She moved both hands for some time and even started to insert her small
finger into her anus, but then stopped abruptly.

   She took her wet swimsuit bottoms, made a tight ball of them, and
pressed them to her vagina.  At first, it seemed that the ball would just
stay outside, but she continued to push it, stroking her clit, and slowly,
it went inside her completely.  She smiled brightly--I did it!  Then she
undid her swimsuit top and repeated the show with it.  Long ropes of the
top stayed outside, and she made them into a tight knot and put on her
panties, demonstrating to me she left the knot pressed to her clit.

   Then she fully dressed, and we went to the bus stop.  She probably was
right about her games affecting her mood: she was calm and collected now. I
hugged her good luck, and she hugged me back tightly.

   "You'll make it."

   "I know now."

   A few hours later, the short text came: "Top ball!  Thank you for your
help :)"

   I exhaled with relief, and only at that moment I understood that I was
genuinely worried for her and had a large part of my mind occupied with
wishing for her success.

   This worry was well rewarded in the evening, with a stream of happy
blabbering and two photos.

   One was just a girl in a long fitting evening dress--apparently, there
was a celebration of the achievement.  She stood in front of the mirror,
shiny beauty, with her shaven head, soft naked shoulders, and wide grin,
and looked prettier than ever.  It was a kind of photo one can safely send
to friends and family.

   The second one was not.  Even for me, it felt like "too much" for a
moment, but then I loved it; of course, I did.

   In the photo, she was still in the same dress.  But the dress was around
her waist now, and she was fully naked below.

   She knelt on all fours with her ass to the mirror, photographing herself
from underneath her shoulder.  In her pussy there was a wine bottle--bottom
first, the same way she once told me she masturbated in a bath.  The bottle
was uncorked, and she held it so that wine would pour into a wineglass
standing on the floor behind her.  The pouring was not accurate; there was
a small puddle of the wine on the floor around it, but I appreciated the
effort.  I also appreciated a candle that was stuck in the girl's ass - and
she had even managed to light it!

   It was crazily obscene, certainly.  But also, thrilling and arousing as
hell.  She told me she orgasmed just a couple of minutes after taking the
photo, without doing anything more to herself, just from being overwhelmed
with the sight and the feelings and the thought that I saw it all.