Playing Around the Water Ch. 04

As usual, many thanks P_Anderer for editing!

Finally, I was back in my home city and couldn't wait to meet the girl I became so fond of playing with. Irritatingly, we couldn't make it for two more days but at last, agreed to meet. I was slightly nervous and seriously excited--as it turned out, I severely missed our real-life meetings, both the innocent and naughty parts of them.

But when we finally met, I couldn't recognize her for a few seconds. And if I managed to, it was mostly by reasoning: it was implausible for another beautiful Black girl to be at the Spring and greeting me warmly. But she looked different now.

First, she was dressed in some official dark-blue pantsuit, which looked great on her. But more strikingly, her head was completely shaven! At first, I was lost for words, and only after some deep breaths, gathered myself enough to tell to her--incoherently, excitedly--how great she looked. And I said it wholeheartedly: her black head with impeccable shining skin made her look like some perfect creature from another world. She seemed to be quite pleased with my reaction and relieved, too--apparently, she was never sure I'd like it.

While she changed into a swimming suit, I couldn't perform our peeping game: numerous girls, maybe some sports team, were crowding around the women's dressing room. Maybe it was for the best; after several weeks of separation, I was overwhelmed to observe her fully dressed, and even more so in her thin red swimsuit.

While waiting in line for the pool, I complimented her shaving a few more times, and she explained: "Yeah, it is my summer form: I like to have everything shaven."

"Everything, like... everything?" I caught a hint to play.

"Everything!" she confirmed and, for the briefest moment, tugged the front of her panties from her body so that I could have a glimpse of the same silky smooth black skin on her mound. I responded with more compliments, and she laughed contentedly.

Between two dips in the pool, we chatted for a bit. She said that now, with a few weeks before the conclusion of her diploma, she had to go to the university and consult with various teachers almost daily, which explained her official dressing style, and she wouldn't have too much time to spend at the spring. Somehow the talk turned back to her shaving, and I asked her permission to touch her head and did so, fondly, tenderly. It felt as good as it looked, and I couldn't help but joke how good should it feel to touch her other shaven places. She simply took my hand--I briefly wondered whether she became crazy enough to put it into her panties--in a crowd?--and stuck it into her smooth underarm: a gesture both funny and intimate.

Soon it was time to get dressed. The sports team left, so now I could watch her dressing--and she was visibly glad to be observed. She took off her swimsuit bottoms first, standing with her face to me, so I could see everything. After that, she sat on a bench's edge, so I could still see her, and even pretended she had a splinter in her foot: raised it to her knee, and sat this way, with legs widespread and pussy fully on display. Even from my pretend-to-be-decent distance, I had a great view and took it in for half a minute. I tried to memorize where the black of her skin gave way to the rose color of her inner lips, noticed her clitoral hood is of darker color, observed her opening that looked wet and becoming more open and wetter as I looked. Then, she took off her swimsuit top and started to dress.

Truth to be told, she didn't overdo that dressing part. Just thin suit pants--over the naked and not even toweled thighs; the pants clung to them immediately; then the matching jacket. No underwear, no blouse under the jacket.

"Are you going to university dressed like that?" I asked hesitantly. It didn't look indecent but didn't look quite decent either. Dark material didn't show any dumpiness, and a long jacket covered her thighs--but the fact that she didn't have anything under the jacket would have been evident at a closer distance.

But she just smiled mysteriously, and we went through the park, jumping into our usual everything-mixed-together conversation: How was the flight? Was that city I traveled to, nice? Had she had time for watching these new sci-fi series? Was it painful to use the eggplant that big? ("Strangely, it wasn't at all. Somewhat scary at the start, but easier than I expected, and really intense.")

Almost near the park exit, she suddenly stopped: "Oh, I need to pee."

I obediently turned to go to the park's bathrooms, but she had something else in mind. Pretending--at least I think she pretended--her need was too urgent, she pointed at some nearby bushes: "Can we try this?" and hurried towards them.

I followed a step or two behind. She quickly reached a small clearing, secluded by thick bushes, shoulder-high. I stayed a few steps away, trying to provide privacy, but she called: "I need some help here."

I was glad to follow her to the clearing. It was surprisingly private for the park; the only narrow entrance was from the side we came from. I quickly understood that if she sat, she will be completely invisible--and me standing at the entrance would protect her from anybody suddenly coming our way.

"Have you done this before?" I guessed.

"No, it didn't feel safe here alone. But I did plan it."

Staying with her face towards me, she slowly took off her pants completely and gave them to me to hold. Then she squatted, becoming invisible from outside, and unbuttoned and gave me her jacket too. Fully naked, smoothly shaven, with her knees spread wide, she relaxed and started to pee in a strong, clear stream. She looked into my eyes all the time, but I didn't always hold her gaze--my eyes wandered towards her breasts, towards her pussy, observed the sunlight dancing in a golden stream of urine. She visibly enjoyed the experience and my attention, and even fondled her breasts and spread her pussy lips for me to see. We were in a small clearing, so she was only a couple of feet from me. I enjoyed the moment too and wasn't shy to say so, to say how magical she looked, to praise the golden sunshine dance.

She finished, but hadn't rushed to dress. She took a tissue from her large tote bag and dried herself. Then from the same bag, she took a bra and put it on, then the blouse. Finally, she took a jacket from my hands, threw it on her shoulders, and stood up, buttoning. It was a lovely sight, too--fully dressed businesswomen from shoulders to thighs, naked pussy and sightly spread legs below.

"I need your help with my panties," she said calmly.

I stepped towards her, assuming she wanted me to hold her to help maintain balance while putting them on, but she said: "They are... there," and spread her pussy lips with one hand.

I didn't even understand at first, so she needed to clarify: "But please take them out VERY slowly."

I was more than happy to comply. I first put a palm on her tummy under the blouse, observing her reaction, reminding myself to remember all the details of this first time of slow touching. Slowly, I moved my fingers to her mound. It was silky, silky skin, unbelievably smooth and totally different from anything I ever touched. Then, my fingers traveled to her hard and trembling clit, then lower, to where she was so wet, so open.

"You are so smooth," I said. And then just, almost as if trying to calm her: "There, there," as three of my fingers plunged into her. "There, there," I repeated, moving them even deeper, till I felt the thin lacy edge of the panties inside her. She exhaled audibly and murmoured, "Slower... slower."

I started to pull very slowly, making rhythmical motions in and out of her, just for a few millimeters; with every move, the panties were closer to her opening. She fondled my hand that fondled her, and rocked her hips, and moaned sometimes, and then licked fingers of the other hand and put it behind her, and while I moved my fingers outside of her vagina, I started to feel her fingers moving inside her anus.

In a few moments, the edge of her panties and my fingers finally were outside. She stopped my motions with her hand and said almost pleadingly: "Stay like this..." Then she started to stroke her clit with one hand and move another hand behind her back. In half a minute, she exhaled: "Now..." and then, urgently, "...pull them out." I yanked the panties free, and at that moment, she bent down and started to orgasm. I could see now two fingers of her left hand were entirely inside her anus and even could see--or maybe imagined--her body pulsating around them.

She stood upright and took her panties from my hands (but not before I sniffed them with an emphatic pleasure). She put on her panties and pants, giggling: "Now we need to move fast. I am criminally late already!"

Before we rushed towards the buses, I licked my fingers clean--there was a lot of her thick juices on them, and proclaimed, "You are so sweet!"

"You too," she giggled again, "in your way!"

And the last thing she said before we parted, in a more serious tone: "I really like playing with you. Thanks."

***

In a few days, we met again. Again, she was dressed business-like--in the same blue pantsuit. "Do you have panties inside yourself, again?" I playfully asked.

"Why yes," she confirmed emphatically but then added with a hint of regret: "But you can't take them out today. Not that I didn't like it the last time, but I only have half an hour. Let's just dive, and I'll need to run to the university."

"Oh-kay," I agreed solemnly and then teased her: "No way to confirm they are inside, then."

She just smiled. As usual, we went to changing rooms--I dressed quickly and took a position to observe her. She made a point of taking off her pants slowly, demonstrating there was nothing underneath; then she sat on a bench, put two fingers inside herself--thankfully there was nobody in the other part of the room--and pulled out a small edge of black cloth, then pushed it back in again and proceeded to put on her swimsuit. When she changed back in a few minutes, the other part of the room was occupied, so she needed to mask her actions. I couldn't see details, but to observe it was another kind of joy: here, she wrapped her thighs in a towel, then, one hand dived under the towel, and was quickly pulled back again with a closed fist; then she pretended to take the panties out of her bag and put them on. But before that, she sniffed her closed fist, looking in my direction--just like I sniffed her panties last time.

Then we rushed away towards the bus, almost running. But still, she managed to talk a bit about the "panties inside" experience, how it was her new favorite thing, and how weird then to put them on, and walking through the city with panties inside herself feels even more naughty than "walking with other objects I've tried."

"What objects?"

"Oh, no time today, I'll tell you later... Or maybe I'll show you."

Everything has happened in the same rushed manner for the next week and a half. She brought panties inside herself every time now, and said, "Panties are inside!" instead of "Hello". After a few days, just "Red thong this time," or "Some sports pair, it was hard to put them in fully, but they feel wonderful." Also, when there was an opportunity, she did quick yet sensual shows for me, of pulling them out, sniffing, even licking sometimes; the red thong she put entirely in her mouth before putting them on. One day, when she took off her pants, her panties were half-sticking out already, and she said it was a funny experience, too; the outside part was pressed to her clitoris with her pants while she walked towards the spring. She hesitated for a second and then said she had a small yet pleasant orgasm when we hugged hello (we were hugging now... sometimes).

Between visits to the changing room, while diving and drying off under the now warm sun, she played with her swimsuit. With her body completely shaven and skin color making it hard to distinguish where her private parts began, she sometimes moved her swimsuit bottoms lower and lower till I've been saying in mock panic: "A few more millimeters, and you'll be showing your clit!"--and, if there were no people in the line of sight, she might for a second, move them below the start of her cleft: "So what?"

Sometimes, she would sit on a bench beside the pool, and squirm a bit, cross and uncross her legs so that the swimsuit bottoms would move to one side--and exactly the moment one puffy outer lip sprung free, she'd cross her legs, stand up and go to to change. Some especially early morning, with nobody close around, she pretended to "fix" her panties during her descent into the pool--I would watch her uncovering her pussy before touching the water with it.

The closer to the diploma final day, the more nervous she got. But also, more playful--she openly said it helped her shift focus from her nervousness; every time we rushed to the bus, we laughed and chatted energetically about her new ideas. One time, she sat to dress, as usual, and took white lacy panties from inside herself... and then, with a sly face, pushed her fingers deep inside herself again and took one more pair of panties--a red thong this time, the same she once put into her mouth. Even though I was aroused, I couldn't keep from laughing--and she happily laughed with me. And then she put white lacy panties on, dressed up, and gave me the red thong.

"You can keep them," she said with an expression that was hard to decipher--it was playful but also a bit sad. "Something to remember me by when I go away after the diploma."

So, I thought sadly, the farewell was coming--she didn't plan to stay in my city after graduation.

Next time, she took panties out of herself, then made the same sly face and put her fingers inside again. Is she just repeating herself? I wondered. But she wasn't. With a casual gesture, she pulled out of her vagina a bottle of deodorant. Then, still sitting completely naked and with her legs spread--I could see her wet and still open vagina--she unscrewed a bottlecap, applied deodorant to her underarms and under breasts, screwed the cap back. She cast a glance, smiled, shrugged, and put the bottle back inside herself in one smooth move as if it was the most usual thing to do! And then she continued to dress.

"You are going to university with it inside?" I asked.

"Yup! A hidden naughty secret makes me much more relaxed about all this diploma stuff."

"But doesn't the feeling distract you?"

"On the contrary! I found a weird state where I am the most focused and clear-headed. I think I'll invent something for the actual exam: I'll need all the clear-headedness and calm I can manage."

The diploma day was the next Wednesday. The evening before, I wrote to her wishing all the luck I could, and she said she'd like to go to the spring before the actual event--and if I'd keep her company, it would be awesome. But we needed to do it early in the morning, maybe 5 am? Of course, I agreed.

This time, she was wearing a new pantsuit, a light one. And even if I was honestly focused on her big day and her nervousness, I couldn't help but notice the slightly visible lines of her underwear.

She was nervous almost to the point of tears, and I made my best effort to reassure her she'd be a star. I didn't know much about her diploma, but I did know about the value of reassurance and the weight of somebody saying, "I believe in you." But even then, I couldn't keep up from commenting: "I see your panties are on, have you changed your mind about 'inventing something'?"

She giggled: "I didn't! Thanks for reminding me; I've planned it for a long time and almost forgot at the last moment."

We changed into our swimsuits, quickly dived, and changed back. She was silent, serious, and not very playful--though when she changed to a swimsuit, she wasn't shy either and as there wasn't a living soul around at this early hour, she even stood closer to me than usual.

But while changing back, she started to put her "plan" in motion. She quickly took off her bottoms, sat on a bench, moved her ass to the wall, then raised her feet to stand on a bench beside her on both sides, leaving her legs widely spread, and started to masturbate. Without any rush, but with a pointed urgency, she stroked her clit with one hand, and touched her opening with three fingers of the other, then started to move them inside. She moved both hands for some time and even started to insert her small finger into her anus, but then stopped abruptly.

She took her wet swimsuit bottoms, made a tight ball of them, and pressed them to her vagina. At first, it seemed that the ball would just stay outside, but she continued to push it, stroking her clit, and slowly, it went inside her completely. She smiled brightly--I did it! Then she undid her swimsuit top and repeated the show with it. Long ropes of the top stayed outside, and she made them into a tight knot and put on her panties, demonstrating to me she left the knot pressed to her clit.

Then she fully dressed, and we went to the bus stop. She probably was right about her games affecting her mood: she was calm and collected now. I hugged her good luck, and she hugged me back tightly.

"You'll make it."

"I know now."

A few hours later, the short text came: "Top ball! Thank you for your help :)"

I exhaled with relief, and only at that moment I understood that I was genuinely worried for her and had a large part of my mind occupied with wishing for her success.

This worry was well rewarded in the evening, with a stream of happy blabbering and two photos.

One was just a girl in a long fitting evening dress--apparently, there was a celebration of the achievement. She stood in front of the mirror, shiny beauty, with her shaven head, soft naked shoulders, and wide grin, and looked prettier than ever. It was a kind of photo one can safely send to friends and family.

The second one was not. Even for me, it felt like "too much" for a moment, but then I loved it; of course, I did.

In the photo, she was still in the same dress. But the dress was around her waist now, and she was fully naked below.

She knelt on all fours with her ass to the mirror, photographing herself from underneath her shoulder. In her pussy there was a wine bottle--bottom first, the same way she once told me she masturbated in a bath. The bottle was uncorked, and she held it so that wine would pour into a wineglass standing on the floor behind her. The pouring was not accurate; there was a small puddle of the wine on the floor around it, but I appreciated the effort. I also appreciated a candle that was stuck in the girl's ass - and she had even managed to light it!

It was crazily obscene, certainly. But also, thrilling and arousing as hell. She told me she orgasmed just a couple of minutes after taking the photo, without doing anything more to herself, just from being overwhelmed with the sight and the feelings and the thought that I saw it all.

To be concluded.