Sunday, June 1, 2008

Down, girl!


Yes, it's true. I do tend to think of Myself as a liberal person. Not necessarily liberal with a capital L, but liberal in the sense of "given or provided in a generous and openhanded way."

Liberally applied. For instance, that's how I like guacamole with my red snapper fajitas.

Or, as miLLie has discovered, with Lubricant on the phaLLus...

Oh dear. Getting ahead of Myself again, aren't I?

Over the past few weeks, millie and I have become not only dearer friends, but we've developed quite a bond. It's about, let's see, seven inches long, made of glass, and decorated internally with swirls of silvery and pale blue sparkles with a hint of rose when the light strikes them just so.

Give up? Give UP?

The phallus. Very good. Though I'm afraid I gave it away, now didn't I?

Well. To be quite literal about it, in fact, I did.

It went like this. millie and I were talking one day, sharing thoughts and ideas and feelings, and the subject of exploration came up. Now, as fate would have it, or did have it, I'd just seen quite the loveliest phallus in my on-line travels, and it was so pretty, so graceful, that I immediately thought of millie. Delicate in line. Elegant in form. Quite ungross, as so many dildos are, including my ex-.

Oops. Now, now - no giving away family secrets. he did, after all, come oh-so-very-close to providing me with a moment of sensual pleasure. But then ... the phone rang and the back rub ended.

He was good for something ... almost.

Well. No sense reopening old sores now, is there.

Where was I?

Oh. Yes. I was on-line. And I saw this lovely thing. Glass. Sparkles. millie!

millie had
recently done something remarkably thoughtful, and quite helpful, for me, and, being the liberal, generous soul that I am, well, you know how easy it is. Take out the credit card, fill in the fields, and then click and bingo - not long after, it appeared on my doorstep.

It was a marvel. The smoothness. The heft in my palm. The glittering transparency. The shimmer. Was it the shimmer that I loved most? Or the heft? Or the swell of the head?

Tough to say. Tough to say.

After a careful inspection and with the comfort of knowing that my on-line impression had been born out by a physical examination, I shipped it off to her with a generous bottle of lube, and one evening, when the package had arrived and millie had a little free time, we talked.

As regular readers may know, millie is coming into her own, but she is not, in any way, shape, manner, or form, a slut - nor will she ever be. Not if I remain in control of the situation. Yes, she has explored new horizons, dipped her (unpedified) toes in, and expanded her understanding of herself. But her explorations, her probings, have not been capacious. Or extended.

So, with the help of the lube, we went slowly and before long - quite quickly, really - we'd come to the edge.

you do know the edge, don't you? That bittersweet place where disembodied fantasies end and reality asserts itself? A tight spot, it can be, quite tight, as it was for millie. Anticipation is sweet, always, but the edge is a portal, and once one has stepped through it, it leaves its mark.

What to do, what to do.

Slow and steady wins the race. The mark need not be painful, you know.

The first gentle kiss as the rounded tip sought out its target ... its portal. Its opening. The slither of the smooth surface against that precious rosebud. The activation of all those nerve endings - hundreds? Thousands? The fiery rush of sensation through the synapses up her spinal column to the brain, where they danced through the wakening embers.

Slow. Gentle pressure. The slight opening. The slight stretching...

Steady. Just holding. Relaxing. Opening. Pressure. Stopping. Contracting. Relaxing. Relaxing. Relaxing. A little more pressure...

Yes, the edge can hurt. No secret about that. Or it can be slow and come over one under the cover of caring protection and concern, with the ease of small waves lapping at the shoreline. Persistent. Unending. Calming. The expansion and opening coming incrementally, gently, slowly, until - POP - it's past the wide curve of the head and the muscles settle around the shaft and all those neural pathways can bathe in the new sensation.

Then, slowly, as millie's breathing settled into a regular rhythm, until she felt it being pulled into herself, filling a void, and then slightly expelled, and pulled in again. Those waves. Slowly curling up and breaking with the sensation all through her body, starting at her center, the ripples pushing outwards.

And when it was nicely in, more than halfway, and the rhythmic push and pull was as natural and as comfortable as breathing, I allowed millie a more intimate introduction to the edge. I had her sit up, the weight of her body pushing it in deeper and deeper until the wide base was pressed against her, nestled snugly against her opening.

In that moment, she was free.

she opened her eyes and looked around her, saw the familiar dresser, armchair, the bedside table, the doorway.

It was all familiar.

And all had changed.

she remains grateful ... to My generosity. My liberal affection for her.

All of her.







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