("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 1999. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
Gee Spot Run
by Sue (suenh@kear.tdsnet.com)
***
Neighbors bump into each other in the park and a
conversation ensues. What they talk about and where that
leads is the subject of this story. (FF, 1st-lesbian-
expr, mast)
***
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 its 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."
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 let's 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.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 69