Part 3 - You moan a little deeper and lift your pelvis up, causing his finger to slide two knuckles into you. “You’re awesome,” he says, and he begins his work in earnest. He turns his hand down toward the bed so his index finger can probe the underside of your vagina, that deep, wet love trough forming the floor of your sex chamber. The tip of his finger is searching, rubbing in short strokes, as if trying to read the history of the velvety wet-flesh its probing. As he concentrates on one spot you realize he’s stroking a tight little bundle of flesh, about the size of a pea. You had no idea it was there, this tiny area of chronic seizure, and yet he’s found it and is caring for it with the utmost tenderness, gently stroking with just the tip of his finger moving in precise cadence over it. You feel it relax, go flat. A vague memory of a high school lover with his hands down your jeans, fingering you roughly, passes through your consciousness as if carried by an inner wind, and is gone. You get a lot wetter now, your love juice trickling out and flow down into the channel between your ass cheeks.
“Good girl,” he says, and moves on. He twists his hand so that his finger, which is now all the way in, can explore the right wall of your vagina. With each stroke, with each curl of his finger, you let go a little more. He’s touching you as you could never touch yourself. The sensations are made so much bigger because your heart is so much wider than it’s been before you met this man. You’re breathing really deeply. Each in-breath energizing you. Each out breath letting your body undulate in rhythm with his strokes. It seems as though he’s taking an incredible amount of time to search out every spot making up your vaginal wall; his concentration draws out this delicious moment. The thought comes to you, “Why have all the other guys I’ve been with been in such a rush?”
He massages everything on the right vaginal wall before twisting his hand again and starting to work on the left wall, exploring every crevasse, every fold, opening every envelope of tension he finds. You’re feeling more open down there than you’ve ever felt. This is so much better than any masturbation, vibrator or dildo play you’ve performed on yourself. You’ve been taken. Claimed by this man’s consciousness and conscientiousness. His dedication to your vagina’s pleasure overwhelms you. This is what you were meant to feel, but never felt before. This is what God designed for you.
“Keep breathing babe.” You come back to the moment. How does he know when you’re beginning to lose yourself, and when to let that happen, and when to bring you back? His voice grounds you in a way you can’t do on your own. With a little twist…a slow deliberate twist of his hand and finger, he now positions the tip of his finger in the center of your G-spot. He rests there, breathing that deep, noisy breath, seemingly marshalling his focus once more to a higher level. You squirm and let out a sonorous “Ooooooohhh.” You can’t help it. You know your starting a new journey, one that will be unlike any other, but the road sign is reading “Pleasure Ahead”.
The third finger of his left hand begins to move. You’d almost forgotten about those fingers, your clitoris had felt so comfortable and safe resting between them. He uses short little strokes to rub the left side of your clitoris through the hood skin. You feel an immediate connection between the finger pressing into your G-spot and the finger stroking your clitoris. A hot wire has been connected between the two spots, right through your love mound, and it starts sending out electric sparks that shoot all the way toward your belly button and the bottom of your ass. He begins to stroke your G-spot. He curls his finger so that the tip rubs up into the nest of hypersensitive nerves. There is a texture there, and as the tip of his finger scrapes softly across this bundle a deep sexual need is directly addressed. You begin to drift into that first stage of ecstasy, where the line between your breathing and your undulating body blurs, where your lungs disappear and your breath expands up toward the top of your head and down toward the tips of your toes. As he continues to rub your clitoris and stroke your G-spot sex bubbles—ecstatic bubbles of sexual energy and bliss--build up under your love mound.
The first orgasm is small, but deliciously sweet. It wells up like a wave rolling toward the beach, and sends tingles down your thighs. He has established a slow, steady, relentless rhythm now, and is letting your body catch up to it, letting you settle into this ride. Your G-spot is coming to life. He’s using long, smooth strokes that begin way back in your juicy love box, back in that spot above your cervix, and move onto the G-spot, stroking its full length to the edge of your mons pubis. This area had been so fallow for so long. A fireworks display with no one to start the show. An essential part of you never tilled and watered, never brought to blossom. But you’re blossoming now. With every stroke another rose in you opens toward the sun. Your secret garden is bursting with pinks and reds and yellows. The second orgasm burst forth from under your clitoris like champagne bubbles blowing a cork across the room, and he begins to stroke faster.
Your journey has begun.