Horny Teen at the Table

5 Ocak 2021 0 Yazar: admin

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When I finally reemerged from my drooling euphoric daze the problem now was how to get the all-twisted-up-around-my-ankles panties back up my legs and onto my tingling butt and buzzing cunny…

“Truth or Dare” can be a fun game for adults, too. Recently, a question was put to me that made me feel horny and nostalgic at the same time:

“Where’s the strangest place you’ve had sex and/or masturbated?”

MASTURBATED: At this loud boring dinner party in Sydney that my parents dragged me to when I was eighteen. Actually, I’d gone willingly. I was wearing my favorite sundress and feeling really sexy in it. I’d been promised that the hosts’ extremely good-looking son, who was my age, would be seated next to me, and not the kid’s sports-mad uncle. “Ya lahk cricket thin, Zoey? No? Cricket neither, eh?”

That ended that conversation at the starters, thank god. But now here it was the dessert course, and still no sign of extremely good-looking son – though I’d been mentally making out with him all evening. They were all drunk and arguing about our buffoon PM, candlelight the only light. I’ve always worn just simple white cotton bikini panties and I can masturbate through them or slip them aside easily enough, but on that night, among all those bellowing older people, I really wanted complete pussy access.

So I squirmed a bit and got my panties down to my ankles. I was surrounded on all sides but no one could see anything – or much of anything, I reasoned, not really caring at that point, anyway. I was actually shaking, I was so excited and horny. I pushed the index and middle fingers of my right hand into the warm liquid depths of my so-needy pussy. My head jerked forward and I emitted a low groan as the incredibly tight space yielded to the combined forces of my knuckles and my lust. (“The vagina isn’t an opening in the body so much as the possibility of one,” someone once said.)

There I was, panting and sweating and trying not to moan, in the midst of a scrum of grownups, with my fingers in my twat and my jutting nipples casting shadows in the candlelight, crying out to be tugged. The mere thought made me gasp, despite myself. I peered about desperately, certain I was rumbled, but the hooting and roaring continued all around me unabated: the olds were paying no mind to a trembling teenage girl who seemed to be off in her own little world.

Which I was, moving my fingers inside the wet little world of my pussy, relishing this only recently discovered thrill – a new dimension in masturbation!: inside. A vast horizon of sensual opportunity opened before me every time I fingered myself. (A few years later, I felt the same excitement and spirit of adventure, when I jammed a well-lubed dildo up my ass on a whim and fell mad in love with the sensation.)

Day by day, a terribly unworldly virgin – as I thought of myself – was advancing on womanhood. I could kiss boys bahis firmaları for hours while letting them play with my naked breasts under my shirt. I’d even “given handjobs,” after a fashion, to a boy in my year. I thought I was really ripper at it ‘cuz he would jizz pretty much the moment I put my hand on his erection and moved it about a bit.

I was still getting used to the idea of semen, let alone the reality of it. There was always so much! But I have to admit, every time it came suddenly squirting out I watched awestruck, my mouth agape, my heart pattering, my panties dampening commensurately.

I was surprised I could still be a good student, with so much of my thinking given over to sex. Boys fascinated me. The way they looked. The way they looked at me. I discovered that it’s a kind of high, putting on a bikini and going to the beach. Just the prospect of it could make me giddy. Boys! Boys wearing less on their bodies than even I was!

Where was extremely good-looking son?! They’d stopped saying “he could be home any minute now” two hours ago, so I lost myself deep in the fantasy of him: of going into his room with him and showing him my naked pussy and just kissing him and hugging him. Smelling his hair and feeling his warmth and the weight of him atop me, dry humping me. He’d have his shirt off and – oh god, was I wet!

I unwedged my fingers from their tight confinement and dabbed cooze juice around my clit, gently swirling it. I came instantly. My body lurched forward and I could feel myself gulping back a scream. The whole room was fluttering like when a film gets caught in the projector, so I knew my eyes were doing the same…

Breathing, calming myself, I squeezed one eye open, then the other, and scanned the perimeter, bracing for embarrassment. To my astonishment and relief, no one seemed to have noticed a thing.

So of course I kept it going, masturbating right there at the table. I could spread my legs pretty wide and pivot my pussy up to get full access. I had some delicious cums, thinking about that phantasmic boy and how his mouth felt on my nipples as he masturbated me on his bed, my sundress bunched up above my tummy, pulled down below my breasts. His naked chest pressed against me. His skin on mine, warm, suntanned. We were perfectly matched.

I’d unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts and pushed them down to mid-thigh. I had his hard penis in my fist, feeling it pulse, making him moan into my mouth as he kissed me, making him cum in great jumping spurts of jism as my pussy squirted all over his nimble fingers…

I was back in the din, looking around wildly, in disbelief that I’d just cum gigantically in front of everyone again, and again apparently invisibly. I was getting away with the most egregious naughtiness! Of course, there was a certain cumulative effect to all this under-the-table activity. Because when I orgasm, my body kaçak iddaa heats up like you wouldn’t believe and I sweat buckets and my face and neck and chest get all flushed. It’s pretty obvious something’s up.

At one point my mom gave me the eye, like “What’s wrong?!,” but then she figured it out and smiled at me and rejoined the clamor. Mom was onto me, because she’d always been onto me, just as I’d cottoned to why she took such long baths.

“Look what the stork brought!” Mom would say to me one afternoon a few weeks after this party, presenting me with my first vibrator. “What’s that, Zo? You thought storks brought babies? Wherever did you get that idea? No. Sex toys.”

By that point in the evening, I was as loopy as the rest of them, but drunk on cumming – ‘cuz of course I had to keep doing it and doing it, having gotten away with it in the first place. Human nature, no?

When I finally reemerged from my drooling euphoric daze the problem now was how to get the all-twisted-up-around-my-ankles panties back up my legs and onto my tingling butt and buzzing cunny. Easier said than done. In fact, quite impossible. So I just flicked them over my sandals, balled them in my hand, and slipped them under the cloth napkin that was across my lap.

(And, of course, having been made temporarily dull-witted by so much cumming, as always happens to me, I proceeded to leave my panties wrapped in the napkin – for our host and hostess or god-knows-who to discover sometime later.)

Finally we all got up from the table. My sundress was glued to my sweaty butt. When I went to smooth it out, I looked back and you could see the imprint of my ass perfectly! Instead of being embarrassed, this just made me horny all over again. Luckily, Mom said we needed to leave because Dad was now at Maximum Loud.

I masturbated all the way home – my mom driving crazy slow; my dad saying “That asshole, that total asshole!” about one of the other guests (or possibly the host); me jilling in the back seat, making myself cum, trying not to moan with the pleasure my fingers were providing my pussy. So – nothing unusual at all about that car ride with my parents!

Although extremely good-looking son hadn’t deigned to make an appearance, I was perfectly delighted to make myself cum, over and over, for hours following, merely imagining him there and all over me with his hot body.

I thought about boys in this way all the time. There were so many cute guys in Sydney! Only some of them were bold, and into making out and maybe playing a little more. But this one boy at my school, the boy I thought I can’t possibly love anyone ever again as much as I love him – nothing. I’d catch him gazing at me in class when I’d go to steal a glance at him and we’d both look away with embarrassment.

I didn’t know how to talk to him in a way that wasn’t obvious. I had this horrific nightmare-fantasy kaçak bahis always rolling through my head that when I finally summoned the courage to march right up to him and tell him how I felt about him I would blurt out: “I think you’re really smart and cute and you have the kindest brown eyes and I think about you when I play with myself.”

Not much later, of course (though it seemed an epoch), a wonderful boyfriend of mine, laughing with me over this sad story (told during one of our post-coital T or D’s), said he was certain this boy had been imagining himself blurting out exactly the same thing to me – “except he would’ve said ‘nicest blue eyes,’ Zo.”

My boyfriend then admitted that he’d been shyest around the girls he liked most at eighteen: “What’s worse, I lost sleep at night, thinking about certain girls at school – and not only from masturbating to them. It was always my resolute plan the next day to finally ask so-and-so out, and I’d toss and turn and lie awake worrying about it and then, next day, resolutely – not do it.”

Oh! Hearing this! If only we’d told the actual truth when we played Truth or Dare at eighteen! But we’re not wired that way and never will be and probably better off for it, I guess… He did have the kindest brown eyes, though, Malcolm did. I’ll never forget him. (Why is he not on Facebook? Or on anything? How is that even possible?)

Anyway, when I finally fell asleep that night – the night of the loud drunk grownup dinner party – my inner thighs were absolutely slick from playing with myself for so many hours.

I can get super-horny like that to this day, where I don’t know what’s come over me and if it will ever stop, and I take off all my clothes and jill and jill and jill and then pounce on my boyfriend the minute he walks in the door.

Or if he’s lying there in our bed, reading something for work, looking so incredibly sexy in his boxer-briefs, I might go over to him and say: “You can keep reading, but lift up your butt for a minute.” Then I pull down BF’s underwear and there’s his nice cock stretched out on his thigh, acting all relaxed and innocent. I get off (almost! I’ve come this close!) making a guy hard with my mouth. Mmmmmmm!!

Okay, off topic. So I love to masturbate and luckily I get a lot of privacy in my job to do it. But aside from angling my cunny and my bum up to the pool jets when there are a lot of people around (and what girl hasn’t done that?), that dinner party was really the only time I’ve played with myself so publicly.

(Well, of course, on airplanes. Art history lectures at college – they were always good for a quiet cum. History of cinema, too, now I think of it. Slide presentations at various offices where I’ve worked… But I’m not counting jilling with other girls during certain lug intervals in the life of a modern lady, where the thrill is displaying yourself openly to another female.)

So I hope this qualifies for “strangest.”

As for strangest sex venue: it was strange to me, but not to the locals. I’ll have to tell that one another day.

Meanwhile, how about a dare? 😉 xoxo, Zoey Z

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