I’ll start with a confession. My name is Sarah, and I’m a masturba-holic. I know that’s not a word, but you get the idea. My motto is you should have sex on a regular basis with the person you love the most, and for me, I’m it.
I’ve been hooked on masturbation ever since having my first orgasm, brought on by my own fingers in the bath. And later, when my college roommate and I started doing it together and watching each other, I found out how hot it was to bring another person into the mix.
But now, thanks to my new friend, Lisa, I am not only a masturbation addict, but a cat burglar, as well. Let me explain how a fairly normal married woman of 35 found herself sneaking into an occupied house in the middle of the night. In order to understand that, you must first get to know my Lisa.
Lisa and I met online through a mutual friend. The first time I chatted with her, I knew that there was a sexual fire smoldering inside her that just needed some fanning. She is smart, funny and sexy, and once she shared her picture with me, I found out she is damn cute, as well.
At 5-6, Lisa is three inches taller than I. Her lithe, willowy figure makes her 36-C breasts attract even more than their share of attention. They stand out as only the breasts of someone 25 years old can. I know that for certain, as I am ten years older and have to work much harder now to keep my body in condition. But I make the effort and have been rewarded with a figure that still gets ogled regularly by a fair number of both men and women.
Lisa has lovely blonde hair that barely touches her shoulders, in contrast to my own dark brown curls. Her eyes are dark brown like mine. Yes, those wonderful eyes. When I first saw them, I knew for certain that there was some mischief, some daring and some steamy sexual energy inside that pretty head of hers.
We exchanged a lot of e-mails, shared details of early sexual experiences and basically got to know each other over a month’s time. But it was when we began to tell each other about some of our current escapades that things really began to get interesting.
In one of my e-mails, I told Lisa how I get really turned on by masturbating in bed late at night right next to my sleeping husband. It’s not that David isn’t a good lover. He really is, but our opportunities for sex seem so few and far between, primarily because of his demanding work schedule that gets him up at 4:00 in the morning and sends him off to bed by 9 p.m.
But I have to confess, even if I were getting all the marital (or even extramarital) sex that I could handle, I would still be pleasuring myself on a regular basis. After all, I am a masturba-holic.
Anyway, I shared my late night masturbation technique with Lisa and she was, shall we say, intrigued. So intrigued, in fact, that her e-mail the following day advised me that she had tried it as her live-in boyfriend, Richard, lay sleeping next to her. She described how she had slipped a finger inside her pussy very quietly and carefully, then cupped her mound with the palm of her hand. That position allowed her to put pressure on her clit as she gently massaged herself. I believe she termed her orgasm “spectacular,” and she was hooked.
Lisa found, as I have, that it’s so much more than the physical feelings that arouse us as we lie next to our partners and fuck ourselves. It’s really the naughtiness factor, the feeling of keeping a special secret that makes us just want to explode. And explode we do now on a regular basis.
But as the weeks passed and our late night diddling continued, we began to talk about how to take our little game to a whole new level. I knew by the look in her eyes in the photo, that with Lisa, anything was possible. So we decided to meet in person for the first time and figure out how we could add a little spice to our fun.
Since we both live in the same large city, getting together was not a problem, once we got past the usual trust issues that are a part of all online relationships. But we were able to navigate those, and decided to meet at a quiet restaurant in the mall where Lisa works.
I recognized her immediately as she glided across the restaurant toward our table. We hugged each other like old friends and I could feel that she was not wearing a bra, as she was often inclined to do. She was lovely in her yellow sun dress with spaghetti straps and she smelled of perfume. Her cotton dress had a full skirt that flared and flounced as she walked and hit her shapely legs about three inches above the knee. Her T-strap sandals with three-inch heels gave her a graceful, sexy walk and displayed her tanned legs to their best advantage. I could tell she dressed herself carefully for our meeting, as did I.
My dress was longer, hitting me just below the knee. It was a black, green and yellow summer print with a halter top that fastened at the back of my neck. Like Lisa, I was braless, and my 34-C breasts bounced a little as I walked, stimulating my nipples to an unusual hardness. Of course, some of that hardness must also be attributed to Lisa.
As soon as we were seated at our table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, Lisa had to know if I had kept my promise not to wear panties to our first meeting. Going bare, as she termed it, is a big turn on for her, and she wanted to initiate me into that sisterhood. She promised to do the same.
Blushing a little bit at her directness so soon after our first meeting, I confessed that I had, indeed kept my part of the bargain.
“Show me,” she commanded playfully, as I looked at her with my eyes and mouth wide open.
“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing very well what she meant.
“I want to see your pussy,” Lisa replied in the same tone she might have used in asking to see a photograph of my pet German Shepherd.
“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” she giggled. CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING