His cock aches, as it slides in and out of me, and I slip into that sweet oblivion, those minutes when my brain lets go of all rationality and simply drifts in a void. His cock pulses and then I can feel it ejecting juices, collected in the condom. I don´t bother to look at him any more than I look through him.. How can I be so present in one moment and so distant immediately afterwards is beyond my understanding. Beam me up, Scotty! And I am gone.
His touch was underwhelming at first, for I expected more from a masseuse. It is also truth that I am far more experience than one would expect by my looks: a middle aged woman, plain and not given to make up and accessories. My friend was hidden watching us, cause that was his fantasy: to see me with someone else, to actually see me instead of being biased by his participation in the act. How foolish! He did take part, whether the other man knew of his presence or not.
Unlike my friend I never cared about professionals personal lives. I don´t have any prejudice, that is not the point, but I´ve met so many of them at the temple, where they were simple followers, not working, and my priest – in his private tutoring to me, for I was his mirror and next in line – used to say that they all tell stories, true or not, to please themselves or the clients, until the trade becomes part of themselves. So… why should I care? Actually, when I turn the trainee priestess on, I see through, and it is an eerie feeling.
He stayed for more than one hour and seemed to enjoy our encounter. I could tell he had problems holding back his cum several times, and I wondered at the reason. Not me, for sure. I don´t fall for flattery, his or anyone´s. I am past that point in life. I got smarter and my heart got colder.
The sensualist in me took over and I got the best of the ritualized massage. Breathe, let your body follow your rhythm, feel your perineum, contract and relax, avoid the gluteus, keep only the perineum and let the pelvis flow down and up. Feel your vagina: it will contract, squeeze as you breathe, first close to its entrance, then a bit tighter inside, and you´ll feel more faintly a bit deeper than that. Let it expand and the blood will flow freely gorging the clit. When you contract again, your clit will be turgid and hard. Rather than that one point, the whole area around it, will be sensitive, even seeping into your thighs, which might tremble as if with muscular fatigue during the prolonged orgasm.
He noticed my response, which comes from years of practice and became reflexive, and closed his eyes as he worked my clit and first vaginal ring. His erection jumped, and I knew, amid the haze of my first orgasm, that he wanted to penetrate. Very few men appreciate it to the fullest, allowing the dialogue of yoni and lingam to flow, and I am a woman who flows, I am a cistern in so many things in life, in sex, I am a fountain overflowing. That makes it difficult for a man who loves that contact to hold back.
The difficulty lies in giving way to pleasure, drifting away with it, abdicating from any pretense of domination over yourself or your partner. You may change positions a couple of times to postpone ejaculation a little, but that only in order to find the best position to burst the dam.
How good! How perfect! Such orgasms, at least mine, are so long and convulsive that my brain cease to function on a rational level, and there are no words to describe how I feel. I have no limits, and could go on until I short circuited and fainted. Men, on the contrary, have a more sudden release.
When he was done, I detached. As an outsider looking in, I could not care about him, or about the men whom I knew was frantically jerking off at the garden outside. The masseuse touched my clit and felt it still turgid and asked whether I could cum again and I told him he could have a go at it, and he dove in, licking and masturbating, almost clawing at my pussy while I floated higher and higher.
Let my friend freeze outside, I was having my trip.
After I felt it was enough, cause the soreness was becoming unbearable, I delicately dispatched him, and let my friend him; he was also exhausted and we talked for a couple of hours, naked in bed.
Friends… oh, beam me up, Scotty! I could have more sensory overload, it is therapeutic. Uncompromising, clean and it gave me such a sense of freedom! Love complicates things. How I wish love was as easy as sex to deal with.