Episode 3 of Camille's adventures
When I opened my bleary eyes, the first thing I saw was Arlene, large and blonde as always.
"Use the toilet, Cammie," she said, grinning. "Then come back so Auntie Arlene can give you what you need."
I got out of bed and walked towards the bathroom.
I had stopped crying. My need had been fulfilled, and I was back to being myself.
And damn, I was horny.
I sat down and did my business.
I gazed into the mirror, deliberately staring at my face, which had a smear of a stranger's sperm on it. I didn't wipe it off. I was going to wear it as proof of my shame, to signify to the world how vile and despicable I was.
Arlene had her arms stretched out when I entered the bedroom. And boy, did she look good!
I'm not gay, I swear I'm not.
I'm not even bisexual or pansexual or gender-neutral or whatever the latest trend is.
But what I share with Arlene is unique.
And she looked hot as hell lying there like that, with the sheet loosely draped over her big hips, a small portion of her thick, curly, light brown pubic hair sticking out, her large breasts, and her teats leaking milk - she said guys liked it like that - and that "come here, baby" smile on her face.
I put on my most innocent face, looked down at the floor, wiggled my toes in small circles.
"What do you want from me?" I asked in a childlike voice.
"I want you to use that perfect mouth of yours down here," she said, throwing the sheet away and spreading her legs.
I smiled.
"I love you, God, if I wasn't so blissfully married, I'd change my sexual orientation."
"Slow down there, Cammie," she said, "we have something special, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up men."
She laughed, her stomach jiggling with amusement, pulled her knees up until they touched her nipples, and said, "Come here."
So, I did.
Arlene is a real blonde, not just her hair but her entire being. It's not likely she's avoided grey hair due to genetics or anything like that. But Arlene is the real deal - one of those blondes with millions of hair follicles per square inch and, more importantly, a very fine down everywhere. Her pubic hair is light brown, incredibly thick, and curly. One summer when we let our bodies go wild, the hair in her armpits was the same, thick, curly, and light brown.
She's big, with a fuller figure - a term that accurately describes her. Her breasts are enormous, fitting tightly into her bras and pushing out like giant melons. Her hips widen out, giving her a large butt with a seemingly bottomless depth.
She's never been pregnant and it shows.
To be honest, I'm a little jealous.
When our casual relationship started as college roommates, neither of us had been pregnant. But now, after I'd given birth to my 9-pound, 7-ounce child, every time I looked in the mirror while getting dressed, I couldn't stop the word "labiaplasty" from popping into my mind. I would see my labia minora - the delicate pink inner lips - dangling loosely between my legs.
Arlene, on the other hand, looked just as she had when we were both in our twenties. Her labia were full and plump, framed by thick, curly, light brown pubic hair. The inner lips peeked out a little, looking like lips.
I leaned down, breathed softly, and kissed them.
I sat back on my heels, grinned, and asked, "Did you bring it?"
She grinned back and said, "Of course I did. In my bag."
I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and searched through her large Dooney and Bourke messenger bag full of womanly trinkets.
At the bottom, I found what I was looking for.
I smiled and said, "Keep that in mind," and returned to the bedroom.
In the basin, I meticulously cleansed the "strapless strap-on," chuckling as I recalled our trip to the "Adult" emporium, the widely prevalent establishments festooned with large square yellow signs adorned with glaring red letters heralding "Adult Entertainment." We had ventured into such a location and purchased this item, a dildo, basically. It appeared to be constructed from flesh-colored plastic, not excessively massive. We perused several of them and opted for this particular one, a fairly convincing representation of a white man's erect penis scaled up to about 125%. Outside this eight-inch pillar of erection, a gentle arc stretched forth, a further three inches in length, which contained two two-inch long tubes, each possessing a small ball at their extremity.
Afterwards, I dried it, taking particular care in addressing the aforesaid tubes, and proceeded to don it. I suppose it would be more accurate to declare that I was "inserting" it.
I assumed a squatting posture slightly and inserted the hindmost tube into my vagina, using my innate lady moisture as lubrication, and then took it out and inserted it into my anus. As it began stretching me, I slightly elevated the front tube, positioning it vaginally. The most uncomfortable aspect followed. I dug my fingernails between my legs and began gripping the small bulb integrated into the posterior portion of the strapless strap-on. It felt fairly similar to gripping the toy given over to our beloved Schnauzer, which would squeak.
The bulb encapsulated by my rectal vault, beyond those robust sphincter muscles, started inflating, thus securing the strapless strap-on.
Once reassured the strapless strap-on was firmly attached, I addressed the foremost bulb.
A sense of elation enveloped me as this bulb expanded, providing stimulation against my cervix and uterus. My vaginal muscles paled in comparison to the anal sphincter's strength and consistency. Nevertheless, the bulb usurped this territory and helped support the dildo.
Pleased with its fastening up, I turned to behold my reflection in the mirror.
Whenever I don this object, I encounter the concept of "penis envy." This encompassed not only its appearance but also the sensations. Its weighty yet pliable construction warrants a minor adjustment to my overall posture for stability. When I executed that adjustment, the dildo inserted within my bottom shifted slightly as the device balanced upon the fulcrum of my vagina. The ensuing sensations travelled from my nether regions to my nipples, eliciting gentle jolts of electricity.
As I returned to the bedroom, Arlene displayed a grin.
"How were you exceptional?" she inquired, "that I possess this substantial derriere while you are the one displaying a masculine demeanor in our relationship."
I smiled as I embraced her foot in my grasp and commenced kissing it.
"Are you regretting this?" I inquired, gradually tonguing each pair of her toes.
"Certainly not," she exclaimed, reclining on the bed.
Experiencing physical intimacy with my dearest friend, my romantic partner, and my confidante following the gratification of my sexual hunger aroused an intense response in me. This response emerged from deep within my brainstem, a primal part of my brain synonymous with the "lizard brain," to which survival and reproduction were the principal concerns. The thrilling act of coupling and fusion of two bodies manifested as a new encompassing entity.
Excuse my poor articulation. Perhaps no description could achieve justice.
I lavished attention on every inch of her skin as I progressed upright her body. I privileged each toe and potential ticklish spot, illustrating my affectionate kisses on the sole of her feet. I comforted her ankles, shins, knees, and the thick line of her adductor tendons. My tongue explored the recesses between her knees and her hipbones.
She was slick with perspiration as I gently blew on her voluminous, flawless brown pubic hair. Lo and behold, she exuded a generous expanse of fluid, an aquatic, semen-esque substance commencing to drip between her flowing, generous thighs.
I inhaled deeply, absorbing her appealing aroma, intertwined with her pheromones, which heightened my attentiveness and betokened a rise in my leg sensations and nipple sensitivity. With every motion, the dildo interposed between my thighs exerted a stimulating impact on my body. Each instance of the bulge within my vagina magnified my own arousal.
I took a lick, sampling the oily, salty liquid fresh from her moist areas and wondered if other women tasted the same. Of course, I had tasted myself but being right there, sensing the scents, not just the fresh scent of her sex juice but the lingering aroma in her pubic hair, that was something else.
I assumed, while gently parting her folds with my fingers, revealing her pink inner lips glistening with her arousal, that I would never really know. I had never encountered another woman who captivated me like Arlene, satisfying my curiosity for that unique kind of exploration.
My imagination tends to wander as you may have guessed, Gentle Reader. As I gazed at my close friend and occasional lover lying back, her legs slightly apart, exuding sexiness with her glistening juices, I remembered an episode of "Sex and the City."
There, Charlotte, the epitome of a proper, well-bred lady who worked at an art gallery, meets an artist. This artist specialized in paintings of women's vaginas - he called them the "essence" of women.
The idea of a woman's vagina being considered the "essence" of her made me reflect on Arlene's perfect display of female sexuality. From her inguinal groove, the attractive line from her hipbone down to where her plump lips joined her thigh, to her beautiful pubic hair that perfectly covered her lower region: she was the quintessential picture of feminine beauty.
I compared her flawless sexuality to my own, realizing how different we were. I was thin and almost shockingly skinny, possessing little hair down there. My own labia hung, a gift from giving birth and my unconventional childbirth classes.
Arlene was enticing, and her nether lips lured me in.
I leaned forward and kissed her. This wasn't some kind of sexual craving, it was an expression of love, offering pleasure, and in my own way, indulgence. Bestowing kisses, I inhaled her scent deeply through my nose, filling my sense of smell with it.
With my tongue, I traced various paths around the luscious curve of her pubic hair starting from the top of her thighs, gently blowing as I approached her inner lips, just barely catching a taste of her nectar, and feeling a light-headed fainting sensation from her perfume.
I lifted her clitoral hood with my thumbs, revealing the center of her sexual pleasure. According to some sources, a clitoris is a vestigial penis, and from the way that her clit resembled my husband's penis, that statement rang true. It was teeny but still unmistakably penis-like. The head resembled his glans and a smaller nub resembled his shaft.
I sucked it carefully, drawing a pleasant "Ooooooh" from her as her hips thrust forward.
She ended up gushing a thick, while liquid onto the bed, trickling down the cracks between her body and the mattress and pooling into a white puddle.
I continued licking, lapping at her, drinking her salty juice eagerly until I detected her body's tremors foreshadowing an orgasm.
I pulled back abruptly, jumping off the bed to stand.
"On your stomach, slut," I said, harshly slapping her hip, causing her to yelp.
"Hon-dear," she whined.
"On your stomach," I repeated, "This is just the beginning."
Charolette stretching would excite, her body-popping noises and fingers cracking letting me know we were about to experience more.
On her stomach, she propped up on her elbows, her back arched, accentuating her round derriere even more.
"I love you," she whispered, laying her face on the pillow.
"And I love you too," I replied, kissing the back of her calves, working my way up her legs.
I traced my tongue along the gluteal fold, the point where butt meets thigh, catching onto the roundness as she sat, making her jump and shout, "Woah!"
I leaned back, slapped both her cheeks simultaneously, and then spread her cheeks wide.
Arlene's privates are a feast to behold - her pussy is lovely, a pleasure to look at. Her anus isn't too shabby either. It's just not as appealing as mine. You know, I've checked. Why not make use of a mirror?
My butt hole is a delicate pink flower, nestled in unstained skin. I'm proud of it, and yes, it's bleached every month.
Arlene's is the complete opposite. Her booty is big, plump, and starting to show some cellulite - it could turn into cottage cheese skin if she's not careful. The gap between those muscles isn't too deep, and her anus hides in a dark, stained tunnel.
I used my fingertips to part that tunnel. You know mine? A beautiful pink starburst - the typical resemblance of an anus. Hers, on the contrary, is a balloon knot, deeply set in the tunnel, so deep that my tongue barely reached it. It's a puckered circle with a bulge in the middle and a protruding skin tag, completing the knotted appearance.
"Bend your knees, darling," I said, tugging her by the thighs.
She got onto her knees and vigorously lifted her big derriere.
I hankered after her, so I took her. I lined myself up, thinking those pads of fat on her thighs, the ones that made her vagina look like one long slit, are the most exhilarating sights.
I reached down to help myself, the pressure I felt in my vagina synchronized with the sensation in my rectum, sending a rush through me, enticing me to dig further.
But I resisted, maneuvered into position, and plunged into her in one swift motion.
"That's the way," she moaned, her voice thick with desire, "give Auntie Leen what we're both coveting."
I established a moderate pace then - in and out at a leisurely pace, massaging the soft mounds at her hips.
In and out at a leisurely pace, fondling the soft mounds at her hips.
After several more strokes, I clutched her hair, yanking her head back, and coaxed her into groaning.
"Scream you love it," I ordered.
"I LOVE it," she panted.
I quickened my pace, thrusting rapidly and deeply into her about 15 times before she cried out in ecstasy, her back arching and pressing into me.
I paused mid-action, bent over, dived back in, and inserted my strapon anally.
Her voice changed somewhat, "Hmmmm, that feels unique." She pushed back, gripping my strapon firmly, and came again.
With the strapless strapon, it's a unique sensation. No clitoral play involved, but the combined pressure from the full rectum and the anchor filling me to the brim, and the vaginal pressure from the inflatable filling me in an unexpected way, gave me an incredible feeling that built deep in my core.
I grabbed her hip fat with both hands, struggling against the unusual exertion.
"Hold on," Arlene said, her voice encouraging, "you can make it."
Alas, I couldn't.
I pulled out and collapsed beside her, trying desperately to catch my breath.
"Finish me," I panted, "let me have it."
She grinned, kissed me, and grabbed my strapon.
"People, eww!" she said, giggling and showing me the brown streak on her hand.
However, she picked it up again and started stroking, much like her lover, David, would from time to time.
"Calm down, Cammie," she reassured me, kissing me softly, "let Arlene handle it."
Stroking the soft silicone in her hand, the anchors within me moved around, stirring that slow ascent up the pleasure platters, shooting for the orgasmic summit.
Arlene led me so close to the climax, almost touching it. But then, it was a different sensation. Instead of it being located in my clitoris, the pleasure surged from deep within my core.
"Say you enjoy it," she told me, repeating my earlier words.
"I adore it," I echoed.
"Say you adore me," she demanded, kissing me passionately.
"I adore you," I responded, kissing her back lovingly.
Yet she still didn't bring me to climax.
"Please," I begged quietly.
But she denied me.
"ARLENE, PLEASE!" I cried loudly.
With five swift, intense thrusts, she finally brought me to my orgasm, and I reached my peak in spectacular fashion. I recalled a story I've heard before, among a group of women chatting while munching on limes, shaking salt, and sharing a bottle of tequila. Loretta from our neighborhood get-togethers, known as the "Lonely Wives Club," said, "When I reached my climax, all that connected to the bed was the back of my head and my feet."
That's how this felt.
It seemed like every muscle fiber in my body contracted all at once. My back arched. I couldn't breathe.
She persisted in her actions, preventing me from relaxation.
The world around me halted.
The surroundings disappeared, along with the universe.
Nothing existed apart from the sheer delight erupting from my abdomen to make my toes curl and my face contort, my eyes close, and my mouth open.
I'm unsure if she kept me in this state for more than a minute, or I would've passed out from the lack of oxygen.
Once she stopped, I collapsed.
"Just unwind now, Cammie," she whispered gently, "I need to tidy up but I'll be back shortly."
I couldn't move due to the exhaustion, yet I had no desire to do so. I simply lay back and reveled in the comforting pressure exerted by the strapless.
I glanced up as I heard her make her way back into the room and opened my eyes when I felt a change in the pressures inside me.
"Baby," I murmured feebly, finding the strength to lift my head.
I didn't say anything else. I simply gazed at her, admiring her as she used a hotel hand towel to clean the strapless.
She grinned at me and said, "Forgive me. Things got a bit messy."
She left once more, entering the bathroom, and when she returned a short while later, she joined me on the bed, cozily enveloping me with a bear hug, kissing me firmly, and said, "Let's take a short break before breakfast."
I felt surprisingly womanly as the weight of the strapless exerted beautiful pressure on my stomach, and her fingertips softly traced the dried cum smeared on my face.
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