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I hesitate outside the door to your hotel room, knowing that I am early for our dinner date. I am certain that I have arrived far too early for you to consider it accidental, and it occurs to me that my assumption of welcome is forward to the point of rashness. It has been weeks since we saw each other last, and that encounter was satisfying beyond my imaginings. I think that we are both here for the same reasons, but is it foolish of me to act on that assumption? Though we have been more relaxed with each other and have talked extensively on the phone and online since that weekend, there is no guarantee that this, our second meeting, will be a repeat performance of the previous one. In fact--and something my abdomen flutters and then plummets--it is probably unlikely.
I push this sudden doubt aside and knock on the door. Life is about taking risks, and at worst, I decide, you will leave me standing outside the door feeling foolish. But you do not. You open the door, your expression one of pleased surprise, and after a moment, embrace me. You smell warm and male and the irrepressible voluptuary in me tingles with pleasure. It is obvious that you are not dressed for dinner yet, and seeing as I am wearing the social armour that business dress tends to be, I know that you are probably uncomfortable. You confirm this by stating the obvious, that I am early.
"Yes, well, I thought I would surprise you," I say, leaving unspoken the thought that I was hoping for 'happy hour' before dinner. I figure that if you only knew what I had on under my dress, you would have it off me in moments. I smile to myself, doing a Kegel flex that sets the little golden balls inside me to rocking. The movement makes me tingle again, and my nipples harden.
In short order the awkwardness between us has faded and the warmth and pleasure in each other's company that we felt last time we met comes to the fore, nearly concealing the building sexual tension. We converse for 10 or 15 minutes, during which I cannot help but wonder which of us is going to make the first overture. I am surprised by my disappointment when you break the tension by excusing yourself, stating that you really must shower.
When you walk away I feel a bit strange because it is as though some part of me follows you, some tendril of my attention is linked to you and my minds-eye is flooded with images and sensations. Something tells me you are masturbating in the shower. I cannot help myself, I go stand by the bathroom door. I listen to the sounds coming from the bathroom, and I am rewarded with the sound of you moaning. My nipples tighten and my unconscious contractions set the ben wa balls into motion again. Rock rock rock. I unfasten my dress and step out of it, so I am clothed only in bra and panties. My movements cause the weights in the hollow golden balls to rock even more. It is languidly sensual, this subtle movement, and I know they will cause me to orgasm quite by surprise, if I leave them in.
I test the knob to the bathroom door and then hesitate. I want to watch you. I want to see how you touch yourself, I want to know how you bring yourself the most pleasure, so I can duplicate it as closely as I can. But I'm not sure its appropriate to invade your privacy. Masturbation is such an intimate, deeply personal thing. I knock on the door and slowly open it to find you standing in the shower, as expected, your eyes-wide. You are pink all over and I am not certain if it is due to the heat of the shower or the embarassment at being 'caught' masturbating. What I know of you makes me believe it is the latter, which I think is adorable. I try not to smile, lest you think I am enjoying your discomfort. Instead, I look meaningfully at your erection and ask you to please continue.
You close your eyes and slide your hand back down. You begin to stroke yourself and I watch your technique. Every man enjoys a different type of stimulation. There are commonalities, I have observed, including the marked differences between how cut and uncut men handle themselves. You make full use of your foreskin, I note with approval. I observe the tightening of your fingers around the swelling girth, the staggered strokes, the way your breathing changes. It is all very educational, and deeply erotic. My breasts seem to swell, and my pubic lips are suddenly slick with moisture. I find myself sorely tempted to soap up my hands so I can use my fingers to stimulate the little opening between your buttocks while sliding the fingers of my other hand into my pussy, but I don't want to distract you from the orgasm that you are pursuing so single-mindedly. Besides, I remind myself, based on the way your legs trembled last time I had my fingers inside you, I don't think you would be able to stand.
So instead, I resolve to be a good girl, and I watch your act of self-love, keeping my hands well away from both our bodies. But I know I won't be able to if you continue for much longer, so I begin whispering to you, whispering words of encouragement and entreaty. You open your eyes and they are so dark with sexual desire that for a moment I think your pupils have dilated completely. For a few breaths you stare at me and then you close your eyes again, diving over the edge of pleasure to splash into an orgasm that that literally rocks you on your feet.
When you open your eyes I see that you are still dazzled with pleasure. I want you to know how much I enjoyed what you did for me, what you allowed me to watch, and so I pull you out of the water by your arm. I kiss you as passionately as I know how, sucking on your tongue, moaning into your mouth, the fingers of one hand curled in the hair at the back of your neck, the other digging into your shoulder. I take your left hand and tuck it into my panties, curling your fingers into the wetness that waits there, so eager to be explored. Your fingers graze my clit on the slide down and I am so sensitized that it causes me to jump. I ease off on the kiss and move my mouth to your ear.
"Deeper, please," I breathe, then graze the lobe of your ear with my teeth before giving it a good suck.
You comply by leaning down a bit and twisting your fingers into me. I moan and open my legs wider so you can slide your fingers deeper and faster. The motion rocks both of us, until a deeper lunge by you dislodges one of the ben wa balls and it falls onto your fingers. You freeze. I watch your face and the expressions of alarm and then perplexity and then curiosity that flit across it.
"What is this?" you ask, and seizing upon the ball, you pull it out of me. You hold the golden ball up between us, in the palm of your hand. It is perhaps 1/2 inch in diameter, and it looks small in the palm of your hand. You move your hand a bit and notice the hollowness, and the weight inside that creates the illusion of motion.
"A ben wa ball," I state matter of factly. "I was hoping to introduce you to the wonders of sharing space inside me with two of them."
The expression on your face is priceless, and your penis bounds, recovering rather nicely from your recent orgasm.
I turn away from you, heading out of the bathroom. I look over my shoulder to see you still standing there, the golden ball in the palm of you hand and your sex fully hard again.
"Don't you want to put it back inside me?" I ask. Not waiting for an answer, I stride toward the bed.