I realised I had no clear idea how women masturbated. And in later years I discovered that, unlike men, there are more variations to this particular theme.
Sally’s technique was to initially play with her pussy lips with one hand, whilst inserting a single digit into her pussy.
“Oh shit yes,” she gasped, as she inserted that digit, with her eyes hooded, but still never leaving my gaze.
Despite having come just 10 minutes earlier this masturbatory vision, directly in front of me, had my cock at full mast once more. I was gently rubbing it. But didn’t say anything for fear of breaking the spell and causing Sally to stop. I probably needn’t have worried.
“Jesus Jack, this is so horny to masturbate in front of you,” Sally whispered. “Especially as I can see it’s turned you again. Keep wanking yourself,” she directed. “And come nearer, I want you to experience it really close up.”
So, I shuffled down the bed and lay next to Sally, on my side, with my dick almost touching her hip. If I’d had the confidence I could have reached out and fondled Sally (and much later she confessed that’s what she’d been hoping I would have done). A large part of me was aching to do just that: feel those wonderful breasts; suckle on a stubby, prominent, nipple; or establish how wet and velvety her aroused pussy felt. But I was much too diffident to push my luck any further than I already had. So I contented myself with watching Sally as I, for the second time that afternoon, started to bring myself closer to orgasm.
As she upped her pace, I did exactly the same. But our eyes were always focused entirely on the other. Or, to be accurate, on each others body’s, not faces. I was transfixed at the scene in front of me, which was not something, just a few weeks ago, I’d ever have envisioned seeing.
Sally continued to finger her pussy, quite gently, but was now frigging her clit more rapidly. Her breathing was coming in short gasps and, painfully inexperienced as I was, I could sense from knowledge of my own arousal, that her own orgasm may be approaching.
Moments later that sense was confirmed. Grasping a full breast, Sally’s fingering of her clit became even more insistent and her climax hit.
“Nnngh, nnngh, ,nggghh, YESSSSSSSSSSS…” she cried, throwing her head back and shaking with the power of it.
The sight (and sound) of which triggered my own orgasm, which, to my mortal embarrassment, I fired over Sally’s lower abdomen!
“Oh my God Sally, I’m so, so, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” I spluttered, in profuse apology. “That’s inexcusable, let me get a tissue.”
“Wow,” she squealed, but in something much more closely resembling pleasure than revulsion.
“Don’t worry,” she laughed, easing my embarrassment somewhat, “that’s fine. I just had no idea it would be almost hot like that. Actually both in temperature and emotionally,” she giggled. “Or that there would still be that much second time around.” She then shocked me further by playing tentatively with it as it pooled near her navel.
“I really am sorry,” I proffered once more. “It’s just that it was so horny. I couldn’t contain myself. I’m so glad you let me watch you.” I enthused.
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