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Constance tensed her muscles as she lay her head back and
closed her eyes. The splishing sound her fingers made
as they slid back and forth across her slippery clitoris was
almost as good as the feeling they made, bringing her closer
to orgasm. This feeling, the last few moments before
she came, the point just before she had no more control, was
delicious. If she wanted, she could stop now and delay
it, but the exquisite pleasure she was giving herself made
stopping unlikely. In the time it took to think about
it, she was past the point of no return, and the shudders
began, the sweet waves of pleasure rolling over her, the
muscles tightening, squeezing her hand between her thighs,
then opening again, and closing once again. She fought
to maintain control, to find a way to change it this time,
to maybe force herself to stop rubbing and maybe push two
fingers deeper inside, to see if that might bring her more
pleasure, but in the end, as always, her need for pleasure
won and she smeared her wetness across the nub of her clit,
loving the pleasure it brought.
As the shudders subsided, her muscles relaxed and her body
collapsed deeper into her mattress. A feeling of
clear-headedness overtook her, and she felt the steady beat
of her heart as it recovered, looked at the ceiling and
discovered spots she could not remember being there, and
just in general felt more calm and focused than ever before.
Her senses seemed heightened; hearing, seeing, feeling,
smelling.....
She closed her eyes again and brought her hands to her
forehead and rubbed her temples, trying to further rub away
any tension. The feeling was good, almost like
scratching a dull itch. As she removed them from her
skin she felt the coolness where they had been, as they were
still wet with her orgasms. It was odd; the first
times she had masturbated she had avoided any contact with
her fingers once they were wet, wiping them on the sheets
afterwards. She felt they were unclean, that her pussy
was not very clean, and that what she was doing was wrong
and she felt guilty. How quickly things changed as she
discovered the many ways she could bring herself to orgasm.
She wondered if that was sort of how pornstars felt, that
after the first few times being used in front of the camera,
it became normal to have their pussies opened and displayed
and filled with so many different things. Not that she
was a pornstar, but for her, not wiping her fingers seemed
like just as big a step. And now....
She brought them to her lips and sniffed deeply. She
had showered this morning, but not worked too hard today and
her smell was mild and she was beginning to like it.
Sort of a "mown hay" type of smell, but more pungent.
As usual, they smelled different. The ones that had
just rubbed her clit had the most mild smell, while those
she had pushed deep inside smelled sharper. It was
those she would smell in the morning if she didn't wash them
before she fell asleep, and sometimes even if she did.
If she was at the end of a three day panty wear for one of
her good clients, the smell would be strong and bold, as she
would have put her panties on in the morning filled with the
sweaty remains of her prior days of wearing them to drink up
any and all pussy drips, letting them age and grow in
intensity. THOSE results would stay on her fingers for
days, no matter how she washed. Sometimes she found
herself purposely bringing them to her face during the day,
just to bring that smell to her nose, to secretly sniff
them, to remind herself where they had been, what they were
doing, and who was going to be happy with her work.
As she lay in bed sniffing them her arousal began to get the
better of her and she decided to take another bold step, one
she had just recently began to experiment with: she put her
fingertips in her mouth, cleaning them off with her tongue,
tasting the salty remains of her orgasm. This was new
territory and she felt like a guilty schoolgirl; desperate
to experiment with this new "bad" desire and hesitant that
she was going too far, that she might cross some line and
not be able to come back. Is this where lesbians
started?
She put the thought out of her mind. She was 31 and
very aware of who and what she was and this was simply a bit
of self-discovery, and besides, she couldn't imagine any
woman bringing her the powerful and physical pleasure she
got form a good evening with her lover. That entwining
of bodies, his strength, his obvious love of her body, his
love of her pussy, the wonderful feeling of his warm semen
jetting deep inside of her, along with the wonderful
contractions of her orgasm, and sometimes even the way he
lay back and left her alone, after she was taken care of
first, of course, just couldn't be beat.
She focused again on her fingers, the wetness of her tongue
enhancing the smell. She was about to stop when she
noticed a drop of creamy wetness, up near her knuckle.
This was new, she rarely made that kind of wetness and had
never tasted it. She stuck her tongue out and teased
it off her skin, as it was thick and clung together.
Once inside here mouth, she flattened it with her tongue and
was surprised to find it had a different texture and flavor,
more mild and more grainy. As she swallowed it she
lifted her head and looked down at her pussy. It was
still red and puffy and made the most slutty scene, raw and
open. She slid her finger back inside and pushed in
deep, crooked her finger and brought it back out. She
was rewarded with a thick clump of the same cream, almost
like pudding. She tasted it and found it was the same,
mild and grainy, and the feeling of tasting herself aroused
her. This time she pushed two fingers in, carefully
collecting any of the cream. Again and again she did
this, each time wiping her fingers on her other hand until
she had a large, sticky mess in the palm. When she
could find no more, she brought her palm close and sniffed.
Very mild. She decided to lick it up all at once,
collecting it on her tongue and then swallowing it all down.
She realized it was not the actual flavor that was now
making her hot and wet, but the feeling she got from
enjoying her own wetness and smell. A little light
seemed to go off in her head and she began to understand, or
hoped she did, just what it was that drove men to write to
her and buy her dirty panties, begging her for wet, fragrant
thongs to smell and taste. It wasn't so much the
actual smell and taste, but the whole smelling and tasting,
knowing it was a pretty young woman who wore it for so many
days tight against her pussy, a pussy they told her they
would love to pleasure, maybe a pussy they wished they might
be able to pleasure, maybe a pussy smell and taste from
their past. As she began to allow herself to relax and
drift off to sleep, she began to look at this little pastime
with more interest. There seemed more to this that she
had first thought, and once she had gotten past the rudeness
and arrogance of so many of the guys, she found there were
some who didn't see her as a cheap slut to be abused, but
rather a willing partner in this fetish they had, as someone
to be treated well and from whom they hoped to, for awhile
at least, re-live a time or place or woman or just enjoy the
smells of youthful fumbling as they had learned to enjoy a
woman and please her in doing so. She slept well that
night.
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