Getting caught masturbating can be a harrowing, embarrassing experience; at least it was for me. It wasn’t that I got caught by my brazenly slutty, swinger mother on the couch, watching Star Trek the Next Generation, with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. It was that the very next day she sat my very embarrassed and shamed ass down for “a talk.” I remember it clearly.
The talk began with, “Kryssi.” She always calls me Kryssi. If the words, “Krystal Samantha Greene,” escaped her mouth, this little redheaded slut knew that she was in big, big trouble.
“Kryssi, just so you know,” she addressed me in that soothing, motherly tone. “There’s nothing wrong at all with pleasure, including self-pleasure. If the Goddess hadn’t intended us to enjoy sex, she wouldn’t have made it feel so fucking good.”
I grew up pagan. In our particular breed of paganism, there are no sins except for failure to embrace your best, true self and to harm others in any way. So, rather than getting the “You’ll need glasses; you’ll burn in Purgatory; proper ladies don’t touch themselves down there,” diatribe, I received my very first vibrator, all wrapped up like a birthday gift. I also received verbal instructions on how to use it properly, where to find my clit, and how to fuck myself. Additional information included what lube to use, if I wanted to shove the phallic treasure up my ass, and way too much information on how my mom likes to incorporate her vast collection of toys into her hedonistic, sexual escapades.
My sixteen-year-old self was mortified, but not so mortified that I didn’t take my new present for a test drive, or ten, that night. Shortly thereafter, mom kept me supplied with her steamy, housewife-porn, romance novels as soon as she got done reading them. The woman reads voraciously. I’d get them with the first page of the hotter, more torrid sex scenes folded down at the upper corner so I could easily find them, in case I wanted to “flick the bean.” Dad constantly lamented over the fact that batteries were constantly on the shopping list.
Exploring my body became a devout hobby. The discovery that I was multi-orgasmic was a delight. The fact that I could fuck myself and finger my clit at the same time was, I thought at the time, pure Summerland, the pagan version of Heaven. I quickly expanded my repertoire of masturbatory aids, finding new things to fuck, hump, and stimulate myself with. No object, corner, or surface was safe from my horny impulses.
I’d masturbate every morning before I even got out of bed. The first thing I’d do when I got home from school was to masturbate. When I drove dad’s old, rusty Chevy truck to school, I’d take the vibrator along, so I could get off while I drove. The very last thing I did before I went to sleep was to buzz myself into oblivion, cumming over and over until I was exhausted. This is a habit that I still practice to this very day.
However proud I may have been at the fact that I could make myself orgasm twenty or thirty times each day, I was still a social outcast. I was shunned due to the fact that my parents were pagan, hippie swingers in a tiny town of Bible-thumping, small-minded cretins. While other girls my age were getting pregnant or fighting off Johnny Quarterback in the back seat of his car, I hadn’t even kissed a boy. I also had very few friends, only one friend, actually.
My best and only friend, Jennifer, Jen for short, was a typical high school vixen, one year older than me. She was sweet, funny, nice, and shared several of the same interests as me. She also thought my parents were “cool” and spent a lot of time at my home because her parents were always at each other’s throats over their mutual infidelities. The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, but that’s another story.
Jen was also sexy beyond her years. While my family, on both sides, are notorious late-bloomers, she was fully endowed with the physical attributes of sexy womanhood. Although I had a spectacular ass from constant hiking and recklessly riding my minibike, my budding breasts were barely nubs at that point. The titty-fairy blessed her with spectacular full, round, high, pert breasts; the hotness-fairy bestowed upon her shapely legs and round hips.
Unlike my carrot-red hair that loved to change hues randomly, depending on the amount of sunlight it caught, Jen had big, long, wavy, mocha hair that set off her smooth and deep skin tone. My skin tone was a pallid, goth, pale and mottled color, speckled with ugly freckles that made it look like I didn’t know how to wash the dirt and grime off my body. Needless to say, Jen was quite popular with boys at school, the men in town, and even the college boys. She always had at least one boyfriend and three or four hovering around in the friend zone.
To my virginal eyes, she was quite experienced. Because we were friends, we talked about boys, sex, all the typical girl-talk. One night, over popcorn, drinking herbal tea, far more inebriated than young women should be, Jen was describing her most recent boyfriend and their escapades.
“Then he put his finger in me and banged me for what seemed like forever. It felt so good. We were kissing the whole time.”
“Did he make you cum?” I asked, my eyes as wide. “What’s it feel like to kiss somebody?”
“No, he didn’t make me cum. I don’t think I can have an orgasm. Well, you know, he kisses about the same as every other boy, I guess. You know what it’s like.”
A silent shrug was my only defense.
“You mean, you’ve never kissed a boy?” A litany of teases ensued.
“At least I know what an orgasm feels like,” I defended.
It was Jen’s turn to pause. Her friendly, teasing expression changed to interest. “You have orgasms?”
“Fuck, yes, I do. Every day.” I was proud of that fact, but the confession followed. “I’ve just never been kissed by anyone.”
“You have to tell me what it feels like, even if I can’t have one,” Jen insisted with excitement in her voice.
“It’s hard to describe. It’s like a pressure wave of pleasure that starts washing over you. Then you feel all hot, inside and out. A sort of pressure builds, but it feels so good, and everything else just sort of disappears. It gets more and more intense, and you start bouncing around because you can’t control your body…wait! You don’t even cum when you masturbate?”
Jen seldom blushes; that was one of those occasions. She paused before she spoke, her voice sheepish. “You know how my parental units are. We don’t talk about it. I tried touching myself like the boys do and it feels good. I once did it for over an hour and I got wet down there. Is that an orgasm?”
It is typically impolite to laugh at your friends; I was extremely rude. “No, that’s just lubrication, so you’re ready to get fucked. Seriously? You’ve never orgasmed?”
“No. Like I said, I don’t think I can. I think I’m frigid.”
“That’s nonsense. You’ll get there. I hear some women need a lot to cum. I guess I’m lucky. I don’t.” I paused. “What does it feel like to be kissed?”
It was her turn to laugh. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll walk you through it, okay? I teach you how to kiss and then you can teach me how to get an orgasm.”
“Deal.”
We were sitting on the floor, facing each other. Because we were talking about boys and sex, we were very close to each other. Our voices were barely above a whisper.
Jen began. “It’s better if you’re relaxed and breathing calmly. So do that and then close your eyes.”
I relaxed and started breathing deeply and slowly as if I were about to meditate.
“Now picture somebody you want to kiss. Do you have anyone in mind?”
I nodded, smiling.
“Who? Is it Timmy Carpenter?”
“Eeew, no! Jon Bon Jovi.”
“You are such a slut.”
“Whore.”
“Anyway, so he, I mean Jon, would first touch you gently, you know, to see if you’re cool with it.”
I felt her touch on my arm, feather-light. It sent goosebumps crawling all over my skin. Immediately, the now-familiar heat and wetness began between my legs. Drifting in the pleasure of being touched, sexually, I tried to memorize the feeling for my up-and-coming date with my vibrator.
“Then he’d put his arms around you,” she pulled me in close. “Most guys squeeze your butt because they’re horny little perverts.”
The sensation of her hand squeezing and kneading my ass felt marvelous. We both giggled like the teenagers we were. I opened my eyes and saw that her face had grown flushed, her nipples were so hard that even her puffy areolas stuck out from her tank top.
“Close your eyes.” Her voice had grown slightly husky. Her face was very close to mine when she spoke again. “Most guys linger here for a while, then start slow and build up.”
The light, wispy sensation that followed almost caused a spontaneous orgasm. Her hot breath moistened my cheek, then moved near my lips, a wet, hot breeze. As my lips sucked in air to jump-start my heart, her lips, plump, moist, swollen, and hot, gingerly touched mine, barely pressing into them.
Her probing hand left my butt and stroked up my spine, sending jolting tingles everywhere through my body. When Jen’s hand reached the nape of my neck, she gently held my head in place as her lips increased pressure and began moving ever so slightly.
Not knowing what to do, my hands sought her back, caressing her flesh through her thin top, running slowly up and down her torso. Her hands emulated my actions, our bodies locked in an exploratory embrace, our lips locked together, increasing in passion and tempo.
She broke off the kiss, panting. “Then…then they usually put their tongue in. That’s what’s called Frenching.”
Without asking me to brace myself once more, her ample tits heaving with her breathing, she drew in for a kiss, pushing me down onto the floor. With Jen laying on top of me, both of my hands were free to roam. I stroked her arms, her back, her ass, pulled her hot crotch into my own, and stroked her burning thighs up to her already-wet pussy.
Her tongue entered my mouth and we probed each other’s mouths with our tongues, sucking on them, licking them, spearing them in deeply, then receding into gentle probing. One of her hands moved up to my nubile, young breast, gently groping at it, cupping it, tweaking my already-sensitive nipple.
Because my hand was already so close, I caressed her pussy through her thin shorts. Snaking a finger under the crotch of her shorts, I felt the gusset of her panties with my digit; it was burning hot, soaked.
Jen moaned into my mouth; her entire body tensed, shivered, then melted into me. We were no longer just kissing. We were making out like a couple of horny teenagers.
She began to grind on top of me, pushing her wet slit into my fingers. Trying to get my hands under her confining panties, I managed to finally get two fingers under the elastic and caressed her lips as gently as I could.
“Oh fuck,” she moaned, pulling her mouth off of mine.
Quickly, as if she was having second thoughts, she rolled off of me and knelt, looking at me, lying on the floor, panting like a slut in heat.
“That’s what kissing feels like.” She paused as if she was struggling to say something. Finally, she spoke, half pleading, half begging. “Would you show me how to cum?”
“Fuck, yes,” I smiled. “Take off your shorts…your panties, too.”
In an act of solidarity, I stripped as well.
“Does it grow out all neat like that,” she asked me, lustily staring at my trimmed pubes.
“No,” I admitted. “I shave down there to make it more sensitive. Besides, I hear guys like it trimmed and neat.”
“What do I do?”
Spreading my legs, running my fingers between my virgin pussy lips until they were soaked, I began running my finger up and down my slit, slowly.
“Get your fingers and pussy wet like this, then caress yourself until everything is slick. From what I felt, you’re already wet.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this in front of you.” We both giggled as we fingered ourselves.
“We just fucking made out, this is no different. Practice.”
My fingers had grown used to my body. It wasn’t long before liquid sex was all but pouring out of me. My gentle fingering grew faster and harder until my thighs quivered.
Jen copied my actions, sighing occasionally, her eyes half-closed, her breathing becoming erratic.
“When do I cum?”
“This is just getting you ready. When it feels so good that you never want to stop, run your finger over your clit in little circles until you reach orgasm.”
I watched my friend as she circled her clit. I could see her pussy clenching and releasing as she masturbated. Our eyes locked as I began abusing my pleasure-pot, adding two fingers inside myself. My arousal created sloshing sounds, making her smile, making me blush on top of already flushed cheeks.
I neared orgasm, nervous and extremely excited over being watched. I had no doubts that I could cum with her watching; what really surprised me was that being watched made it seem hotter, dirtier, more wanton.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t do it,” Jen said. Her voice sounded agonized, disappointed. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m fucking frigid; I told you. I’ll never cum.”
“Nonsense. You’re just nervous. Here, lie back, close your eyes and relax.”
Seeing her on her back, her pussy wet enough to glisten, her nipples engorged, I was overcome with lady-lust. Slowly running my hands over her body until she was sighing in pleasure once more, I gently spread her thighs.
“You relax and let me show you how I do it. It’s like you showing me how to kiss.”
Closing my eyes, remembering how I liked to touch myself, I climbed over her, only vaguely aware that her nudity was turning me on even more, and lowered my lips over hers for another kiss. This time, the awkwardness of our initial make-out session had disappeared. Her mouth eagerly opened to mine; her tongue licked at my lips. Her breathing became impassioned once more.
Moving down for easier, more comfortable access, my fingers parted her velvety soft folds, gently moved her pubic hair away, and began to rub her slit up and down. Finding a good pace to match her breathing, it was quite easy to get her squirming and writhing under my fingers.
Stroking up as she exhaled, holding my fingertip just under her clit until all her breath was depleted, then cascading down as she inhaled, sighing, timing it so my finger was just at her canal when her lungs were full, I soon had her panting. Increasing tempo along with her breath, I soon had her breathing deep and fast, almost sputtering in ecstasy. When her hips began to hump up and down in an effort to keep my finger near her clit, I pulled back the hood and gently flicked her button with my finger.
“Fuck me. God, that feels good,” she exclaimed.
Although clumsy at first, I soon found the perfect mixture of speed and pressure. Jen lost herself lost in desire, pulling her tank top over her magnificent breasts and rubbing them. Neither knowing nor caring what came over me, I impulsively leaned forward and sucked one of her hard nipples into my mouth. As soon as my tongue flicked her taut sensitivity, the combination of my fingers on her clit and my mouth over her tit gave Jen her first orgasm.
Jen clamped her thighs around my hand, nearly crushing it, as her entire body convulsed up and down. Her body left the floor and plummeted back onto the rug several times as she shook and moaned.
Although she didn’t, or couldn’t, speak, moans and whimpers escaped her mouth. Her breathing came in such powerful, short bursts that I feared she was hyperventilating. Watching her in the rapture of orgasm was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
“Oh fuck,” she finally managed to say. “You do that every day?”
“Last night, I had more than thirty orgasms with my vibrator,” my pride was evident.
“How do you have a vibrator?”
“Uh, mom gave it to me after she caught me fingering myself.”
“I wish my parents were as cool as yours. Show me.”
Pulling my most-treasured possession from under my mattress, I could only smile at her admiration. Despite her experience with boys, I felt so worldly and experienced because I owned a sex toy.
“Can I touch it? How does it work? Can I make you cum with it?”
“Fuck, yes. I so need to cum right now.”
Spreading my legs, showing her where and how I like it, I guided her hands to my dripping pussy as she ran the vibe over my clit, fucked me with it, and made me cum twice. Returning the favor, I used it on her, getting her off three times as we kissed and groped each other. It was a good thing that it was a sleepover because we both wanted more.
