A Guided Masturbation Story
Most of my attention, however, was usually riveted on her heart-stopping hourglass figure. Her hips swept out from her waist with large, full curves which rolled sensuously back and forth with every step. As if in musical counterpoint, her lush, Junoesque breasts accented these larger movements, swaying heavily beneath her knits, sweaters, and silk blouses. While I have always been a sucker for full women, I was mesmerized by Rachel’s ripe femininity. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before I began visiting the library more often to try more classical CDs and get Rachel’s advice on all things musical.
Rachel
from the net, circa 1998
Though it happened eight years ago, it hangs in my mind as if it took place yesterday. I have tried to reconstruct a little dialogue at a few crucial moments though I’m sure the exact words were different. It was my first year in Southeast Connecticut where I had recently arrived in January as a young professor in the humanities. Having recently purchased a CD player without realizing the major expense would be compact discs, I was glad to find an extensive collection of classical CDs at the local library. These could be checked out for two weeks intervals just like books. I was even more happy to meet the librarian who handled the music section.
Let’s call her Rachel to protect the innocent (or, on this case, not so innocent!). Rachel was one of those women who naturally exuded the radiant warmth of an earth mother (despite her young age of 25) while at the same time being unbelievably sexy and feminine (at least in my eyes). I was immediately drawn to her infectious laugh, sparkling personality, and somewhat flirtatious manner. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was also taken with her luscious breasts which she seemed to emphasize by wearing clingy tops. Rachel had lustrous black hair which cascaded thickly around her face and over her shoulders and set off her smooth, pearly white skin. Her eyes matched her hair and flashed like dark jewels. Most of my attention, however, was usually riveted on her heart-stopping hourglass figure. Her hips swept out from her waist with large, full curves which rolled sensuously back and forth with every step. As if in musical counterpoint, her lush, Junoesque breasts accented these larger movements, swaying heavily beneath her knits, sweaters, and silk blouses. While I have always been a sucker for full women, I was mesmerized by Rachel’s ripe femininity. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before I began visiting the library more often to try more classical CDs and get Rachel’s advice on all things musical.
Since I have never been good at hiding my feelings, it wasn’t long before Rachel realized I was a not so secret admirer with more than classical music on my mind. Within a few weeks of meeting, I was stopping by twice a week and sometimes more often if I was “in the area”. After a month, I even got up the nerve to flirt indirectly with her by commenting on the beautifully plump female nudes painted by the Old Masters which decorated the jewel boxes of so many of the library’s classical CDs. She also caught me staring at her a few times. Fortunately, she always seemed to appreciate my attention. At times, she even responded with flirtatious remarks herself. For example, when I commented that the Old Masters really knew what beautiful women looked like, she said it was too bad more men didn’t feel that way. By early April, we were on quite friendly terms.
Sometime in late May, Rachel inherited some lithographs from an uncle who had recently died. Since she knew I had a good amateur’s knowledge of art coming in part from my family background – my parents stilled owned a small print gallery – she asked me if I would be willing to look her at her lithographs to see if they were valuable. Of course, I agreed, excited at the chance to socialize with her outside the library. The following evening, I arrived at her apartment around 6:00. When she opened the door, I noticed immediately that she had changed into much sexier clothes than the ones usually worn at work. She had on a gauzy white linen summer skirt which made her hips look softer, fuller, and more pliant than ever. As pretty as that looked, my attention was primarily drawn to her thin pink sweater-jersey which buttoned down the front. I should say “unbuttoned” because the upper three or four buttons were undone allowing a generous view of her heart- stopping cleavage. Even fully buttoned up, that sweater would have caught my eye the way it clung like a second skin. One could see the distinct outline of a low cut, tight brassiere which bit slightly into her breasts so that the top half bulged over and jiggled freely where the sweater was unbuttoned. Equally distracting was the wide spacing of the sweater buttons which created numerous little gaps down the front and gave me repeated, fragmentary glimpses of the lacey pink cups of her bra. Later, Rachel admitted she carefully choose her outfit that night to try to seduce me.
After chatting in the living room over a glass of wine, Rachel brought out her lithographs. Fortunately for me, I was able to identify them as unsigned originals of the late nineteenth-century French artist, Daumier. Since these works were produced in large numbers and are still quite common in print galleries, they would have been familiar to anyone with a basic background in art. I was even able to suggest rough estimate of their value – approximately 300-400.00 each.
With business taken care of, Rachel gave me a tour of the other art works in the house, notably some interesting coastal watercolors and two still-lifes. Also framed was a Renoir exhibition poster featuring one of his plump female nudes. After we were all finished, she asked, “Which one do you think is the most beautiful, Richard?” I nodded to one of her coastal scenes as far as her original art went but added I thought the Renoir even more beautiful. I even managed to say that looking directly at her face though not without feeling my heart beat faster. Rachel told me she wasn’t surprised and again lamented that more men didn’t share my views on beauty.
With little remarks like that combined with the luscious spectacle of her half- unbuttoned sweater, I felt my face grow increasingly flushed as the room took on an increasingly charged atmosphere. Indeed, I breathed a little inward sigh of relief when Rachel announced she was off to the kitchen to fetch more wine. I tried to relax by sitting down on the sofa and taking a few deep breaths. Of course, it didn’t work. After about two minutes, she finally emerged with the wine bottle. As soon as she appeared in the kitchen door, an electric jolt hit me and my heart began pounding. For it was obvious Rachel had removed her brassiere in the kitchen while undoing another button for good measure.
Since the CD had just ended, she crossed over to the stereo, set the wine bottle down, and began shuffling through a large pile of CDs. It took her almost two full minutes to select “just the right music”. By then, it dawned on me that she was playing a little game and that I was free to play along as long as neither of us openly acknowledged it. For the whole point of her lengthy CD search was to allow me to stare without being caught. And stare I did at the pretty rolling of her unconfined breasts beneath the thin sweater. Every movement she made with her body was picked up transmitted outward into her breasts in a series of smaller dancing movements. And to top it off, Rachel managed to chat on amiably and innocently about music selections the whole time as if nothing was amiss. Finally, she found the CD and got it playing. With that done, she retrieved the wine bottle, crossed over to the rather low coffee table and leaned forward towards me to fill our glasses. And when she did, the upper half of her unbuttoned sweater simply fell away revealing two pillowy white, jostling breasts held loosely in place from below. Even if she hadn’t been preoccupied in pouring wine, it would have been impossible not to stare. Held together by the tight sweater, her globes wobbled gently like Jell-O patties with every slight shift in her position.
With my heart pounding and my senses dazed, I forgot about all else and stared shamelessly even though she was a few feet away at best. Fortunately, Rachel was busy carefully pouring the wine. Though a little voice inside told me to stop gawking before she saw me, I ignored it, glued to the sight of so much femininity. Eventually, of course, it was too late. I looked up to see her dark eyes looking directly into mine. But instead of standing up abruptly in embarrassment, Rachel continued to hold her position – the second glass was not quite full – as if to use her knowingly-exposed breasts and my rapt attention to test me further. She then asked in a noticeably husky voice,
“Do you see anything else around here that’s beautiful, Richard?”
Throwing all caution to the wind and lowering my gaze very deliberately to feast even more openly on her breasts, I answered,
“Ooh God Rachel … I sure do”.
“Then stay there. I think I know exactly what you need.”
With that, she put down the wine bottle, came around the coffee table and sat beside me on the sofa. And without saying a word, she gently pulled my torso into her lap so that my head was cradled in her arms. Even before she finished adjusting me, my open mouth instinctively sought out and found a nipple through the thin sweater and begun suckling hungrily. After a few moments, she gently pushed my face away and pulled at the sweater, popping the remaining buttons in a rush. Instantly my face was buried in warm breast flesh. Completely overcome, I again fastened my mouth around the nearest nipple with a moan and began sucking for dear life. In return, Rachel began softly moaning herself and lowered her breasts further so they completely enfolded my face. As I licked and sucked, my hands came into play as well, cupping and squeezing the warm bosom I was suckling and periodically giving her other waiting breast some attention too. As I suckled and fondled her, she stroked my face and head repeatedly and murmured,
“Oh you sweet thing… you dear, sweet thing. You’ve had your eyes on me for months now, haven’t you? I thought you might need something like this from Rachel. I’ll tell you a secret, Richard. Some women need this just as much. Oooohh yes, that’s it … keep sucking my nipples. I’ve been thinking about this for longer than you might think. My, my … you certainly do a thorough job, don’t you. I think we’re going to have to get you to come by here more often, what do you think?”
By then, all I could do was nod from the trance-like reverie of my oral pleasure. For at least the next hour, the only sounds I made were the licking, kissing, and sucking noises of my busy mouth, my breathing through my nose and a series of little moans. After ten minutes, I shifted to bury my face in her other warm breast only to dart back again to the other as if determined to satisfy both of them together. All the while, she encouraged me with a steady stream of soft words, moans, and head caresses. When I opened my eyes a few times to see what she was doing, she too seemed to have slipped off into a pleasure trance. Her eyes were closed and her breathing irregular and heavy.
I don’t know how long I stayed there as I lost all track of time. At some point, I noticed it had gotten quite dark outside. My guess is that I suckled Rachel for more an thirty minutes that first time. And thus began a weekly routine of long sessions that lasted sixteen months years before Rachel moved to a better job in Atlanta. We were a perfect match. For me, breast suckling and squeezing was the most sensual thing I knew. I even came a few times with all of my clothes on just from being so turned on. (I was always hard as a rock when my head was in her lap. And she would often bring me off with her hand.) Rachel, in turn, looked forward to our sessions just as much. During the first episode, she confided that her breasts and nipples were so sensitive she frequently had orgasms just from having them sucked. Needless to say, I made sure she had plenty of breast-induced orgasms over the next year and a half.
At times, we would vary our routine. Sometimes, she would drive around at dusk or at night (or even on quiet roads in the day) with me lying on my back across from the passenger seat with my head in her lap and my face buried in her breasts. Sometimes she simply tucked my head under a loose sweater worn without blouse or bra so that my head was invisible. At other times, she wore a silk blouse completely unbuttoned so that her breasts swayed down openly slapping my face like ripe, teasing fruits with every motion of the car. She also liked being finger fucked while she drove. When summer came, we went to summer movie matinees on weekdays and sat in the back. Since the theaters were invariably deserted at that hour, we had hours of uninterrupted breast fondling while her hand quietly caressed me through my pants. Until we reached our seat, we looked like any respectable couple. She wore a light summer jacket which was buttoned shut decorously in front. Once the theatre lights went down, I would unbutton her jacket and open it slightly to reveal her unconfined breasts outlined in a stretchy knit blouse. With Rachel in a dark blouse under a jacket, we found I could fondle her breasts as much as I wanted during the movie. For anyone passing by, nothing was visible, not even the movements of my hand. Since she also loved being fingered, she always wore full skirts and no panties. I would switch off three or four times an hour between squeezing her breasts and finger fucking. Concealed by her full skirt, my hand could easily creep over her nearby thigh and slowly, ever so slowly slide deep into the warm, feminine prison of her two wonderfully soft, fat thighs. To heighten this for both of us, I always took two or three minutes to reach my goal. In turn, she teased me by repeatedly squeezing my hand between her thighs, thereby simultaneously halting me and encouraging me with these intimate love squeezes. After a moment, she would loosen her thighs just enough for my fingers to move further in their journey. Not surprisingly, she was usually sopping wet by the time I finally reached her womanhood (especially since she was already fingered on the drive over). At that point, she opened her thighs to give me sufficient room without freeing me from the enveloping feminine plumpness of her thigh flesh. It wasn’t long before such slow finger fucking turned me on enough to bring on a climax assisted by her quietly squeezing hand.
I know how much she liked being fingered not just because she told me but because she stiffened periodically and locked my hand in a deep thigh squeeze while sighing quietly under her breath for a half minute or so. She also conveyed her pleasure in her considerable lubrication. Though we never saw much of the movies, we nonetheless enjoyed the show thoroughly.
Finally, there were times when she would call me to say she needed a shampoo. When I arrived, I usually found her sitting on a kitchen chair in the bathroom and wearing a thin Italian tee-shirt and a tennis skirt. I would lather her head up with lots of extra shampoo and eventually let my soap-filled hands descend slowly along her ears and neck to the outside of her tee shirt for an extended soapy breast massage. Eventually, my hands would find themselves under her little tee shirt and complete the job paying particular attention to her sensitive nipples. Sometimes I would descend even further and soap her thoroughly between her thighs right through her panties (if she was wearing any). Most of the time, after she had come once or twice, she would guide me around in front of her, lower my pants, and ask me to make love to her soapy breasts. Or we would move into the shower, sometimes still dressed, for more soapy, watery games. On still other occasions, we would give each other sponge baths one after another.
We also loved going for afternoon weekday swims in the summer in warm deserted CT lakes. Even if there were a few fishermen in aluminum boats in the distance, we were invisible once we waded out into neck deep water. Our suits always came off rather quickly at that point and the rest of our time was spent squeezing and cupping and stroking underwater, safe from view.
– end –