A Woman's Journal (Month 12)

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A middle-aged woman experiences a sexual awakening.
3.6k words
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Part 12 of the 17 part series

Updated 11/01/2022
Created 08/31/2011
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March 2011

Monday, March 6, 2011

Mr. Valequez and I met for lunch today.

It was a dreary can't make up its mind weather kind of day and I was happy to get out and spend some time with him.

Even though I pretty much know that he likes to meet with me to unleash his pent up cravings, I am becoming addicted to what his little brain, if you pardon the metaphor, might have in store for me.

I was picked up by Dan driving Mr. Valequez's limo with Mr. Valequez sitting inside.

Dan is such a wonderful man and his presence always adds a bit of assurance that I am safe despite the amount of clothing that I might be required to take off.

I had not seen Mr. Valequez since my masturbation demonstration in the office and was a little apprehensive about seeing him now.

As Dan opened the limo door for me, Mr. Valequez greeted me with open arms insisting that I sit right next to him.

I returned his warm greeting with a hug of my own and settled into the luxurious interior of his private ride.

With his arm around my shoulders he unabashedly told me how much he loved my demonstration particularly at the end when I could barely keep my seat.

What a surprise that a man might enjoy seeing a woman orgasming as her dress sneaks its way up her legs. (:-o)

He told me how much he hoped that I would provide him with another exhibition of self-gratification and handed me a gift-wrapped package at the same time.

I guess I should have put two and two together as the package was about 4 inches wide and over 12 inches long and I had just been complimented on my masturbation technique.

I guess even a brunette can have her "blonde moments".

I unwrapped the package to find a body massager with a large oscillating head contained in a long thin box.

I guess most manufacturers couldn't directly label these devices as orgasmic inducing, but considering its acute resemblance to a certain part of the male anatomy I guess "truth in advertising" doesn't have to apply.

Mr. Valequez was quite delighted with himself as I sat there holding an obvious weapon of self gratification and when he encouraged me to plug it into one of the adaptor outlets in his limo I no longer could delude myself as to his intentions.

I hesitantly plugged it in and flipped the switch only to have the massager almost vibrate right out of my hands.

"This baby has a bit of a kick to it." I thought to myself as I attempted to suppress a smile.

I certainly didn't want to show my enthusiasm as I moved the vibrating head across my palm, however I woke up quite horny this morning and this gift wasn't helping; not one bit.

Mr. Valequez took the massager from my hand telling me to just sit back and relax as he moved it up my thighs on the top of my pencil skirt pushing it up against my mound. I am not sure how most women in this situation would have reacted, but the mixture of emotions of having a business client massaging my erogenous zone albeit through my clothing coupled with the desire to let my inner freak loose caused me to alternately sit stiffly trying to ignore the intoxicating vibrations being applied and then to completely relax allowing the sensations to take me over.

After a few minutes my inhibitions were replaced by a combination of erotic feelings as an unexpected little gasp of pleasure escaped from my mouth and I involuntarily moved my legs apart to allow the vibrating head better access to my sensitive spot.

"I knew you would appreciate this gift." Mr. Valequez said with a very satisfied grin as he placed my hand on the massager.

"Now it is time to watch you play," he added.

I know that the same woman with her long standing principles of right and wrong still exists, but over the past year, that woman (Me) is much more likely to give in to her basic nature, which is a very sexual and submissive person. Every day it seems to be getting easier for me to just let go and as I took the massager into my hand, let go is exactly what I did.

I instantly pushed the oscillating head (Isn't that a wonderful combination of words?) against the top of my skirt knowing that it would not suffice, but I was not quite ready to slide it up between my legs, or so I thought.

The wonderful whirring noise was hypnotic as I could feel my body relaxing to its enticing rhythm.

It was just a short matter of time before I completely overlooked the fact that a client (Although considering who the client was, it was quite simple.) was sitting right alongside of me observing my every movement, and while I continued to grip the massager with my right hand, I pulled at the hem of my skirt with the other until my stocking tops and garter snaps were fully exposed.

It now was just a matter of placing that damned intoxicating oscillating knob firmly against my moistening nylon covered lower lips making full contact with my yearning female nub.

The effect was immediate as I ground my pelvis down onto the vibrating head grimacing in total supplication to its intoxicating pulse.

Somehow I was now kneeling on the seat opposite Mr. Valequez with my knees far apart; certainly not a ladylike posture, straddling the vibrating head, lost in my own symphony of self-gratification.

I pressed my lower anatomy down on top of my new toy moving my pelvis forward and backward in order to get to every hard to reach place.

In a very short time, I knew that I had reached that point of the glossy eyed look and funny grimace that so often precedes my first spasm.

Although I was looking right into Mr. Valequez's most appreciative eyes, I never saw them as my entire body clenched in anticipation of the soon to appear raw physical pleasure.

Sweat was running down the sides of my face and soaking through my blouse as each glorious orgasmic convulsion rolled through my body.

Off in the distance I could hear Mr. Valequez's cheers of "Ole" as I rode my electric bronco.

What I still remember so distinctly while orgasming was my attempt to smile at Mr. Valequez as if nothing unusual was happening and then when the next orgasmic wave overtook my body my eyes would shut tightly and my mouth would form the letter "O" as if trying to enunciate in order to allow a lip reader to understand me. "O" is for Orgasm.

Finally as my entire body exhausted itself, along with small strands of my hair sticking to my face I fell back into the corner of the seat in another unladylike posture with the same uncaring attitude that accompanied the first such pose.

My skirt was hiked almost to my waist showing off a very soaked pair of lilac string bikini panties, however I was beyond caring what or how much was showing.

I could barely catch my breath as I came back to the current reality of sitting in Mr. Valequez's limo with him as my lone appreciative audience.

It is so interesting to me to be able to completely lose myself when such erotic sensations take control of my body, but when it is over to have such a strong sense of shame come rushing in.

So I go from a period of only seconds before being completely and totally uninhibited to an overwhelming feeling of mortification as my previous training takes over.

As I sorted myself back into some semblance of decency I vaguely recalled a vision of Mr. Valequez stroking a very erect penis as I was opening and closing my eyes with each convulsion.

I found myself looking for evidence of his ejaculation, but as I have found with him, nothing ever seems to show.

Can some men orgasm without actually squirting?

I engulfed a full bottle of water as my muscles continued to shake from my recent sexual exertion.

After a seemingly long period of recuperation combined with a strong sense of "What am I doing?" I was dropped off in the front of my bank building and made my way back to my desk a little worse for wear and completely absent of my earlier horniness.

I truly had no idea how intense my orgasms could be while someone was watching me.

Exhibitionist was not a term that readily came to mind when I thought about my sexual proclivities, however it seems that it needed to be added to my repertoire, as it certainly had become another aspect of my evolution.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Mr. Von Elder introduced me to a new client today. His name is Mr. John North, although I was told that he normally goes by the nickname, "Big North."

He is a big man, over 6 feet tall, with light brown hair and brown eyes.

If you pictured what a man should look like that owns six motorcycle dealerships in the Midwest, undoubtedly you would picture someone who looked exactly like Big North.

I have always loved the idea of motorcycles and am quite pleased that he is my new client.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

St. Patrick's Day is one of my favorite psuedo holidays, as I am an Irish lassie. And what a St. Patrick's Day I was about to experience.

So today, in order to celebrate my Irish heritage I decided to wear an Irish plaid skirt, a pale green angora v-neck sweater, without stockings and dark green heels.

To complete my outfit, I had found a very sexy bra and panty set. The bra and panties were in a shiny white satin with green shamrocks printed on the bra. The bra was a balconette style whose cups barely covered my nipples and made my breasts look like they were being served up on a platter, which considering the diminutive size of my breastlets, it was quite flattering.

The best part was that the matching white string bikini panties had "Spank me, I'm Irish" embroidered in Shamrock green across the bottom.

I went into work and received so many wonderful compliments on my sweater skirt combination; I could only wonder what everyone would think if they could see the complete outfit.

Little did I know at the time, that my question would be answered within a short time

Have you ever worn underwear that just made you feel sexy all over even though you were the only one who knew? That is how I felt all day.

My little heat thermometer tucked away between my legs was registering temperature spikes including high humidity most of the day.

At the end of the day, Linda and I joined some of our bank clients at a local Irish pub.

Coincidently it was owned by Ms. Court, who informed me of it when I called her to invite her along.

The clients were a mixture of males and females, some of whom I had met and been encouraged to undress in front of last October.

Is there something about holidays that I should worry about?

The Pub was extremely well designed, as I come to expect with anything that Ms. Court was a part of. It was meant to look like an old Irish pub with thick plaster walls painted in shades of tan and beige, large oak beams lined the ceiling, along with cozy sitting areas throughout.

At the end of the combination dining area and bar was a large fireplace with an open area for any sort of intimate performance. Hint! Hint!

Ms. Court greeted us at the door, looking fabulous as always, and directed us to a large booth along the sidewall situated in its own private little nook where only the last person in the booth could be seen by anyone in the main area. I was the last to sit down and thus found myself on one end with Linda right next to me one seat in.

The clients graciously treated us to a wide variety of Irish whisky concoctions and after only two I was feeling pretty good.

Sometimes when I drink I have a tendency to get a little wordy and tonight wasn't any exception, as I just had to share with everyone my fabulous find of a St. Pat's Day bra and panty set.

Is this simply my subconscious communicating my desire to show off? Most likely!

My temperature spikes also had come back.

My subconscious didn't have to wait too long as Linda forced me out of the booth into a standing position and unceremoniously lifted my plaid skirt well above my Irish undies giving most everyone in the bar a good look at my shamrocks. To make matters worse, or better depending on your viewpoint, the bartender alertly noticed the embroidery on my bottom yelling across the pub, "Hey, what does it say across your butt?"

This caused Linda to take a hold of me, spinning me around so my bottom faced the booth, and again lifted my skirt well up to my waist.

I was in such a relaxed state that all I was able to do was accede to her ministrations while attempting to maintain my balance.

As if in unison, the clients and Linda replied loudly to the bartender's question, "Spank me, I'm Irish."

Well, needless to say that began a very different sort of Irish celebration at my expense.

As one of our male clients took a hold of my arms holding them firmly behind my back, Linda led me around the bar asking the other patrons if they wanted to comply with my panty's message.

Surprisingly (I am being quite sarcastic) no one declined.

Once Linda received their affirmative verbal response, our client used my arms to bend me forward with my bottom facing the patron while Linda lifted my skirt up over my waist.

Some of the patrons would give a light little tap while others would resoundingly smack my bottom causing me to squeeze my cheeks together stifling an embarrassing loud moan of raw pleasure.

My thermometer was beginning to register high heat and humidity.

Once everyone had their chance to warmly greet me, Ms. Court took me by the hand leading me to the small stage in front of the fireplace.

There is something about Ms. Court, Linda, stages, and myself that should be examined in a very Freudian manner. Maybe spanking needs to be added to the analysis as well.

A bagpiper had set up to play while I was being passed around, and as he filled the pipe's bag with air (This reads almost sexual), Ms. Court directed the bartender to place one of the chairs on the stage, which was immediately lit up by a small spotlight.

Linda came up and sat on the chair attracting my attention as Ms. Court found the side zipper of my skirt, quickly undoing the clasp, and simultaneously pulling down the zipper along with my skirt.

A roar of approval went up from the pub patrons as my embroidery glowed in the spotlight.

I know that I should have been deeply embarrassed but I am finding out that being exposed in front of an appreciative audience has its benefits such as the warm tingling that courses through my body each time I find myself skirt less in my panties.

Linda quickly pulled me over her lap wrapping one leg over mine simultaneously holding one arm behind my back to keep me in place, as Ms. Court asked everyone, "Who's wants to see a little Irish jig?"

Do you think that she was referring to my panty-covered bottom?

Everyone cheered as the bagpiper began to play a lively Irish jig while Linda kept time with her hand smacking my bottom.

I probably could have squirmed myself loose, but I was still lightheaded from the previous libations while at the same time enjoying the spotlight, although I think it was mostly directed at my barely covered assets.

As the slaps became more intense I found myself involuntarily responding with a lively jig of my own as my lower torso danced and squirmed to the rhythm of Linda's slaps.

I have found that there is a point where the pain and stinging are replaced by something much more raw and unbridled and that point had been reached as my nipples popped to attention and I felt them push forward out of my shelf bra straining against the silk material of my sweater.

My lower thermometer became alive as it swelled through the opening of my swollen and parting lower lips.

The fun part of our exhibition was quickly transforming into a primal act of foreplay as my body quickly began to respond to that mixture of pleasure and pain that accompanies any extreme forms of attention to my posterior region.

From the neck on down I was on fire as Linda spanked me over and over to the timing of the bagpiper.

Everyone in the pub was keeping tune to my bouncing bottom and yelling their approval, as my light hearted smile was now turning into a lustful look of longing for sexual release.

The audience in attendance seemed to realize that this was no longer an act of sexy playfulness, as they became more subdued in their celebration and more intent on the evolving performance.

I could see Ms. Court off to the side with a very satisfied grin of pure unadulterated pleasure, which further stoked the fires beginning to burn between my legs.

Linda's playful slaps now had an urgency to them as she also found herself beginning to react to my helpless predicament as well as the very sexual nature of our performance.

As my "Oh Gods" also kept time to the jig, I felt the same heat that I was generating starting to emanate from between Linda's legs as her little furnace blasts of passion licked my bare hip.

Linda's smacks now had a sexual energy to them as I could tell that she was coming close to orgasmic convulsions as if in response to my own.

Isn't there something about women who spend a lot of time together tending to menstruate at the same time? Well, it seems that the same might be true with orgasms.

Her free hand let go of my arm and very unexpectedly slid down between my legs as her exploring fingers found my temperature gauge.

Somehow at the same time she was able to pull my hipbone firmly against her own gauge.

From a rational standpoint, I wanted it all to stop in order to salvage some sense of dignity, but as I have found so often over the past year, my sense of dignity held a much weaker position when compared to my animalistic cravings for satisfaction.

Almost simultaneously both of our bodies went rigid as an ensuing orgasmic tsunami took hold.

Linda convulsed so hard against me that I slipped off of her lap, finding myself kneeling on all fours in the spotlight looking like a dog having an epileptic seizure.

My "Spank Me, I'm Irish" embroidery shook and shimmied as my lower half allowed each delicious spasm it's lewd expression of raw sensuality.

Linda made the most primal and emotional sounds further igniting my response as wave after wave of orgasmic spasms shook our bodies in full view of our stunned and very appreciative audience; so much for any inhibitions about public orgasms.

I was covered in sweat with most of my panties having turned into a darker shade of wet when Ms. Court mercifully and very provocatively sprayed me with a large seltzer bottle.

Now everything clung to my body as the patrons gave all of us an unexpected round of applause.

Linda was flushed from head to toe, as it was her first very public orgasm. I flushed a bright red as well.

Ms. Court came up to the stage getting us both to stand up and take a bow for the voyeuristic audience, which made me feel as if I had just been a part of a live sex show.

I guess that is exactly what I had been a part of. Funny how it seems that Ms. Court's establishments seem to require this of me.

My entire body just vibrated following our very uninhibited show.

Ms. Court then took both of us back to her private office giving our over activated senses time to calm down. At the same time she gave me some of her clothes that she kept for emergency situations to change into.

By the time we got back out to the main bar most of the people had left, which I realized was a good thing as my recent string of public exhibitions needed a break.

12