Benita's message on the answering machine was in her usual cryptic style.
"I'm horny and lonely. If you'd like to come over this afternoon for some water-cooled eetwoem, give me a call."
E2M was our private acronym for "enhanced mutual masturbation." We had been friends for a number of years. We tried sex with each other early in the relationship and found that any kind of contact sex interfered with the openness and stark honesty that went between us.
Weeks or even months could go by with no contact between us and then there would be a phone call just to catch up on personal news or to set a date for lunch or an E2M. We both prided ourselves on coming up with zany and even kinky scenarios to put each other in when we directed an E2M.
Once Benita had knotted a piece of clothesline around my nuts and backed me up to one of the posts on her patio. Then she drew the rope tight around the post and tied it. After she handed me a bottle of oil she slowly undressed while I masturbated. She knew I liked women in high heels so she put her shoes back on. Standing naked in front of me in just her heels, she held out her hand palm up. I poured some oil into her hand and she began to masturbate. My dick was big and hard. I stopped the stimulation because I was near orgasm. She dragged the nozzled garden hose with her and settled into the chase lounge in front of me. It was one of her favorite places to masturbate. With her legs bent she jammed her high heels through the webbing, spread her legs and started stroking herself. She often had two or three orgasms before I would let myself go for my one.
When the eye of my dick closed and my erection was beginning to fade, I began stroking myself again. I watched her squirm and heard her squeal as she orgasmed. In thirty seconds I was fully erect and switched from a full stroke to just tantalizing the hard head. I could do that and have great pleasure without having to stop. She brought the nozzle up slowly aiming at my crotch. She smiled as she squeezed the handle and the stream of warm water played back and forth across my hips and thighs and then steadied on my hand and penis. Since I was tied by my balls to the post against my back, I couldn't move or retaliate. She sprayed me again after her second and third orgasms. The water was cooler then and each time I lost most of my erection before she stopped spraying me. I was long-stroking my itchy/achy erection with the eye open and wanting satisfaction when I looked up and saw Benita standing with hose nozzle in her hand. Her legs were spread wide and she was shifting the nozzle from one hand to the other, each time aiming it at my groin and flicking her wrist as though she were firing a pistol at me. Her expression went from mock grim to a grin when I came.
Another time I strapped her into a parachute harness, hung her from her patio beam so her feet were a foot off the ground and then tied her legs apart by lashing her ankles to the ends of a rake handle. That was a long session because she had a little trouble coming all trussed and tied that way. It was my turn to be comfortable on the chase lounge. I kept myself on the high plateau of pleasure just below the point of inevitability until she came. Then I shifted to slow, full-length strokes and relaxed away from the tension until I was in moaning ecstasy. I resisted the common sense notion of stopping the stroking and within a few seconds wrenched another wave of growling, throbbing pleasure out of my loins.
I called Benita back and told her I would be at her place about one o'clock. I didn't bother to ask her for any of the details about what a "water-cooled E2M" was. I knew she wouldn't tell me. That was another one of our rules. The element of surprise mixed with anticipation made for a delicious level of tension between us.
Benita's house sat well back from the highway. The landscape was original Sonoran desert and the architect had done a good job of using the front of the house to further isolate it from road noise and observation by passersby. The whole north side of the house; bedrooms, living and dining room; were wrapped around a large patio, part of which was covered. There was a good 150 feet of desert to the rear and both sides of the patio... the palo verdes and greasewoods screened her from her neighbors... complete privacy and yet open and airy. The air was hot and the sun intense when I stepped out of my air-conditioned truck... probably gonna be 112 or 114 by three thirty when the temperature peaks, I thought to myself. I knocked and pushed open the kitchen door.
I heard her before I saw her... the click of her high heels on the ceramic tile floor in the living room. She spread her arms asking for a hug. We stayed in each other's arms for half a minute or more just enjoying the contact and closeness.
"Come in here," she said as she turned and walked toward the dining area. She turned one of the dining table chairs so it faced parallel to the long axis of the table. "Time for you to get naked," she said. It didn't take long for me to step out of my sandals, shuck off my shorts and briefs and get out of my pullover shirt. She was wearing a white cotton dress with little dark blue polka dots, stockings and black high heel pumps. While I was undressing she unbuttoned the front of her dress. Almost absentmindedly she reached inside her dress to stroke and pinched her left nipple. I already knew she wasn't wearing a bra... when we hugged that's part of the automatic inventory that goes through my mind... I had felt her bare back under the dress. I could see skin all the way from her collarbones to her waist when she bent forward to sit in the chair she had just moved. She was silent for maybe thirty seconds with her left hand inside her dress caressing her right nipple. The silent pauses between us were a special part of the relationship. We both had learned to accept them without the need to compulsively say something to fill the silence. "You sure got undressed fast. You anxious to find out what's on the menu today?" she commented. An impish smile played across her face for a few seconds. She pointed to a spot on the floor by her left hip. I moved to the place she indicated.
"I'm told this is easier to do if you're a bit firm," she said as she reached out and pulled on the head of my penis. The pulling and squeezing was quite pleasant and I began to swell. "I suppose I could have had you do this. There, that's about right I think," she said patting my half- hard penis.
From the table she took the end of a piece of clear plastic tubing, uncapped a tube of KY jelly and smeared the first foot of the tubing with the lubricant. Several loops of the tubing lay on the table and the other end was attached to a clear plastic bag--the kind your see hanging from a stand in hospital rooms--IV solutions. "I'm gonna stick this up your dick and fill you up till you're doing the dance of discomfort," she said brightly.
As always, the individual who was dressed had the psychological advantage over the other person. I watched with frozen fascination as she held the head of my penis between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and slowly made the end of the tube disappear into the eye. "I've been told the insertion is not painful and can even be enjoyable," she said evenly.
I had stopped breathing. When she heard me breathe she ask, "Hurt?"
"No," I breathed. She continued to invade me slowly. "I've never been touched there before," I said with a quiver in my voice.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"Yes, I think I do," I said as I felt a more intense sensation deep within my groin. "Ahhhggg," came from my throat.
"What? Tell me what you feel," she insisted.
"Like I'm about to come," I replied describing the burning urgency deep inside of me.
"Gooooood" she crooned as she forced three more inches of tube through my half erect penis. I was afraid to move. "I'm in," she announced. "The end just went past your prostate and into your bladder. Just like they said, there was some extra resistance to overcome just before insertion was complete." She was slowly stroking the head of my penis almost like a mother attending a small child who had just had to endure some unpleasant procedure. Then she reached out and released the spring clip that pinched the tube closed. "You want a beer while you're filling up?" she asked as she squeezed the bulging bag sending a surge of liquid into my bladder.
I told her that would be very nice. She returned from the kitchen with a cold can of beer in one hand and a bottled wine cooler in the other. She handed me the beer and picked up the bag of liquid. "Let's go out onto the patio," she said. "Hold the tube in place with your other hand and I'll carry the bag."
I walked slowly like a semi-invalid. She walked beside me with her wine cooler in one hand and the bag of liquid and several coils of tubing in the other. She was putting pressure on the bag as we walked. "Sometimes you're a really sneaky bitch," I told her gazing at the bag in her hand.
"Yeah, ain't it grrrreat," she said, squeezing the bag even harder, sending another surge of liquid into me. By the time we got to the two chase lounges on the patio I had a strong urge to urinate. But I knew that wasn't going to happen any time soon. And the bag was still half full.
The chase lounges were side by side but facing in opposite directions. The setup reminded me of the time we lay head to foot on my bed masturbating together, handcuffed left hand to left hand.
Hanging above the lounges were two cords tied to the patio beam. Both had S hooks tied about head high to the dangling ends of the cords. One hook was bare and the other held a bulging red rubber enema bag. She reached up and attached the bag of clear liquid to the empty hook. Then she took the beer out of my hand and placed it on a nearby table along with her wine cooler. She was holding a spritz bottle in her right hand as she turned toward me. If she handed the bottle to me, I was to start masturbating. That was another of the rules for us. Instead she spritzed oil onto my penis and said "Stroke it till your standing straight out. I want that muscle clamped down tight around the tube when you start moving around sticking it to me."
While I was doing as she instructed, she pulled her skirt up around her waist and settled back onto one of the chase lounges. Her fine legs were encased in tan thigh-high stockings that ended near her bare hips. She toyed with the black plastic tip attached to the hose of the enema bag. "Stick it to me," she requested as she offered the black tip to me. She lay back, rolled away from me and pulled her top leg up against her chest. Bending over was very uncomfortable for me because of my full bladder. The lubricated tip went in easily. I released the pinch clip on the tubing and watched for some sign that the liquid was flowing into her. After twenty seconds or so I could see the red rubber bag shrinking. Benita groaned and shifted her position slightly as she straightened the leg that she had been holding to her chest. Her hand went to her belly to massage the liquid higher up into her and make room for the fluid still flowing from the bag hanging above her.
"You like to watch me squirm in pain, don't you," she growled.
"Much as you squirm in pleasure. Anyway, you told me to do it to you," I responded.
"You're right," she breathed. In two minutes the bag was completely flat. When I withdrew the tip, a few drops of clear liquid escaped her anus. She sat up, swung her feet out and gingerly stood up letting the hem of her dress fall back into place. Moving to the table she opened both beverages and returned to face me.
The beer was cold and tasted good. I smiled through the discomfort. She smiled back and began to slowly shift-her weight from one foot to the other and then back again. She took a long swallow from her wine cooler and reached inside her dress to caress and pinch her nipple. Then she gave a little grunt, withdrew her hand and began to massage her lower abdomen.
"What are you giving me," I asked.
"Sterile water...harmless but it can be distressingly filling, don't you think?"
"Yes," I responded.
"What was in your bag?" I asked.
"Wine. I'll be tipsy in ten minutes. It's even faster than drinking on an empty stomach."
"How to you know that?" I asked.
"I tried it solo last week," she replied. "It's a lot less sicko when it's done to you, don't you think? I mean if I had just told you to stick that tube up your dick and fill yourself up, that would have been harder than having me do it, right?" Her words were beginning to slur a little. It was as if we were having some polite chitchat at a cocktail party. My discomfort had rolled over into pain and the bag still wasn't empty. Benita was squinting with discomfort and was bent slightly forward. She handed me her wine cooler bottle, shrugged her way out of the top of her dress and let it fall around her feet. "Speaking of sexual pleasure, they say that arousal increases one's threshold of pain considerably. You ready to get down?" she said.
I lay back on the chase lounge and began stroking myself while I squirted oil onto my hand and penis. Erection came quickly. I looked through the mixed mist of pain-pleasure and saw Benita in her thigh high stockings and heels lying back on the other chase lounge beside me. She had her high heels hooked into the webbing of the lounge and her legs were bent and spread wide. The hum of her vibrator was overlaid by yips and squeals as her head rolled from side to side. A gurgling scream came from her throat as her back arched in an attempt to get closer to the vibrating pleasure source. Then she fell back breathing heavily, every inch of her beaded with sweat.
I returned to providing my own pleasure. I stroked slowly, staying below the bursting point for several minutes. Benita was on her feet. She unhooked the bag at the end of the tube in my penis and dropped it onto her lounge. It immediately began to refill with liquid. She got a pair of pruning shears from the table and repositioned herself on her lounge making sure her body weight was compressing my bag. I felt the painful surge deep in my groin again and fought it with long pleasuring strokes.
My semen burst out of the eye around the tube in convulsive sprits. It was one of the most intense orgasms I have ever experienced. But the pain and the urgency stayed in my groin. When I looked over at Benita she was cutting the tube with the shears. Then she hooked her heels in the webbing, spread her legs and thumbed the switch on her vibrator. It took several minutes for my aching bladder to void onto the patio where the cut tube lay. Sometime during those minutes Benita screeched the arrival of another orgasm and thrust her hips toward the sky. When she fell back against the lounge, her body was glistening with sweat and her chest was heaving, wanting more air for her trembling abdomen and thighs.
Photo & text copyright 1994 & 98 Del Edwards (a nom de plume)
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