0 comments/ 30425 views/ 0 favorites No One Can Eat Just One Ch. 02 By: jinnysub That evening, in my hotel, I laid out the contents of my makeup kit on the sink. I made a mental note to get another packet of panty shields – my juices had been flowing copiously all day as mental flashbacks to my experience in the plane lavatory kept coming back to me. Each time I opened my purse, the presence of that little tube and the accompanying card did the same. I had tried to move the tube to my cosmetic kit, but each time I did so, I’d come back a few minutes later to find it gone, transferred invisibly to my purse. That was probably better, in the long run, though. Leaving it in my hotel room might mean that a maid would pick it up, or maybe make use of it while I was in meetings the next day. The thought of lying down and opening the tube right then and there was almost overpowering, but I had a supper date with a client in a half hour and, after the effects that afternoon, I knew that a half hour wasn’t even close to the time I would need to recover from such an experience. That morning during the plane trip, I found myself dozing the full 4 hours of the trip, floating in an afterglow that was beyond anything in my prior experience. A promise to myself that the tube and I would get reacquainted after dinner, when the evening was mine alone, enabled me to overcome the urge to tear off my clothes, cuddle up in bed, and open the tube. I don’t remember much of that supper. The slit in the shell macaroni was too much of a reminder of another slit, the smell of the boiled shrimp at the next table was too close to the fragrance of sex, and the slight blush on my skin after the second glass of wine was a reminder – a pale reminder – of the blush of excitement that had been mine in that little lavatory. While business plans were being laid, the real planning was going on in my head, and it was plans for being laid, just me and my little tube. I debated back and forth in my head whether or not to use a little bit of the gel, as I had that afternoon, or try a more copious amount and see what that experience might be like. I almost decided on using the same tiny amount (I wanted this stuff to last) when I realized that I had another choice to make, where to apply. On my clit? Could I risk, could I even survive, such a possibility? Inner lips? Outer lips, closer to ‘home’? On the other hand, why not go with what I had done that morning? How could anyone begin to anticipate any greater, deeper sensation than I had already experienced? As I sat and talked business plans and mentally made plans for personal business, my body remembered in its own way the events of that morning. Almost as a mirror of my initial experience, I could feel a slight warming sensation at the far back of my vulva, spreading just as it had that afternoon, back and forward, then deeper within, with breasts and almost every square inch of skin warming, just slightly, in memory of what had been, in anticipation of what could be. My concentration on the client was lost completely. I excused myself and went to the rest room. No explosions this time as was the case that afternoon with the gel, but a very pleasureable little interlude that allowed me just enough respite to make it through the rest of the meeting. As the meeting grew to a close, my impatience grew. Mentally, I was squirming to be away from that table, out of my constricting hose, bra, clothes, and back in my room lying on my bed. Physically, each minute meant more sensations, phantom sensations of sex, would break out in unforeseen areas of my body. One minute my cheeks would burn, the next the toes on my left foot curl as if in ectasy. A nipple would slowly become engorged and uncomfortable with the constrictions of my bra. My body was like a computer infected with a virus, a virus that broke out in odd, unforeseen places at unforeseen times. We said our goodbyes. I think we said our goodbyes. I punched the ‘up’ button on the elevator but couldn’t wait for its arrival. I ran up the three flights of stairs to my room, fumbled with the electronic key what seemed like an eternity, and burst into my room. Like a cheap movie, my clothes lay strewn in my wake. Blouse at the door, bra close thereafter. Shoes. In trying to take off my pantyhose and panties in one swoop while walking, I stumbled, fell, and found myself on the floor. I literally ripped them from my hips, tore off my skirt and stood, naked, in front of the dresser and mirror where lay my purse. Trembling now, I opened the purse, took out the tube and card, and re-read the warning. “Dangerous in many ways to the woman who chooses to use it a second … or more … time.” I’d done a lot of dangerous things in my life, and none felt as good as that morning. I uncapped the tube, squeezed out the tiniest little dab onto my index finger, and lay down. No. I was going to do this right. Without losing a bit of the dab of gel, I eased it back into the tube and looked around the room. First. Turn up the heat in the room. Open up the bar and select a bottle of red wine. I opened it, intending to let it breathe for ten minutes or so. I peed, took care of things there, and lay down again, picked up the TV remote and checked to see what might be available. The adult channel offerings were not for adults that evening, at least not for anyone who was not male and had the sexual IQ of a lowland gorilla. Flipping through the cable channels, I noticed that “Ghost” was just beginning on Turner. I may have seen that movie a hundred times, but there aren’t any movies that help me into the mood better than that one, except maybe “Sleepless in Seattle” or that Louis L’Amour movie where the woman writes notes and leaves them on tumbleweeds. At the moment, I didn't need help with my mood, but the movie certainly couldn't hurt! Dimming the lights, still trembling with anticipation and desire, I poured a glass of wine, lay down and uncapped the tube once more. Again, I took the tiniest little dab onto my finger and, literally shaking, I applied it to my outer lips, about midway front to back. To be continued… No One Can Eat Just One Ch. 03 Nothing. This morning, the reaction had been almost immediate; now, no additional sensation whatsoever. I squeezed a tiny bit more of the gel onto my finger and began to lubricate my inner lips, the area between my inner and outer lips. Still no sensation. In fact, my irritation at the lack of sensation was beginning to negate all the built-up tension, all the anticipation that had grown during the afternoon and evening. I squeezed out a larger dollop and decided that even if the gel no longer had any magical qualities, it would serve quite well as a personal lubricant. I began to relax again and get into the moment as I teased my clit out of its hood, circling it with my lubed finger. "Unchained Melody" from "Ghost" was the backdrop to my self-love. Although my natural lubrication was already beginning to suffice, I took a little more gel and ran my finger around the entrance to my vagina, pulling at times, applying pressure then lightly brushing. I traced the outside of my lips where they met my thighs, then the inside of my outer lips, moving to my inner lips and up and around my hood. Then back down, to that little area between vulva and anus. "Ma-ah-y love..." The phone rang. The moment was lost. I didn’t fall off the mountain with release, I simply found myself back at the base of the mountain. I ignored the phone, but it rang insistently. Picking it up, I was ready to tell whoever it was on the line to go fuck him/her self when I heard these words. “You didn’t follow instructions.” Click. Dial tone. My spine was no longer tingling with desire. Fear replaced the need. Fear and anger mixed. I was ready to fling the phone across the room. As I stood there, phone in hand, however, the gel began to work. Not with the explosiveness of that morning in the airplane lavatory, but it was definitely beginning to work. It was a subtle glow that began at various parts of my body, erogenous zones and zones that were now erogenous despite their original purpose. Despite my fear, despite my irritation at the phone interruption, my irritation with all my arrangements for the evening, my body was again beginning to respond. My skin flushed, my breathing became deeper and more insistent, a flush was extending from my cheeks down my neck onto my chest. My pussy was coming to life. Slowly, the warmth began to grow, the sensations of need to be filled, of need for touch, were there at the edge of my consciousness. But the sexual need was warring with my growing anger at … at whoever, whatever had given me that gel. No, not at having given me the gel but for having put those stupid restrictions on it and for the intrusion into my personal life, my privacy, that the note that accompanied the gel, and the phone call, too, had made. I wasn’t going to be taken by the gel, no matter the pleasure it promised. I strode into the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and stepped in. I directed the handheld shower head at my face, my breasts, my pussy, sputtering and cursing the woman in the stall who handed me the gel, whoever it was that had developed it. The cold water and the rage held the desire at bay for some time. Twice, I turned off the water, thinking I had won, but the subtle warmths, the insistence of desire forced me to turn the water on again, to turn the shower head on those areas where the need grew. Face, breasts, pussy, ass. It almost became a race to reach another hotspot, a race I soon lost as hotspots became simultaneous, then continual. I deliberately set the shower head to a fine mist, intending not to inflame my desire any by force of water. Yet, as I stood there, desire and rage warring within me, I noticed that it was set at gentle pulse. Whether I had done so or not, I don’t know. My legs began to shake with weakness and desire. I sat on the bottom of the tub and began to cry with frustration. Frustration at my inability to control the situation, to control my desires, even to control the flow of the shower head as it bit more insistently into my tissues. Sexual frustration, as well, as the need for release began to override all other sensations. Again, whether it was my doing or not, the pulse of the handheld shower head grew less gentle and the water grew hot to the point where it, too, created or inflamed already existing heat where it struck. My left hand found its way to my breasts and fulfilled their desire, their demand, for play. My right hand directed the shower head, now totally at the area of my pussy. My legs spread as far as they would go, willing the water, the beat of the water as high up inside me as it could go at the same time that my clitoral area called out for its share of the fun. I could get the shower head no closer than a foot and a half from my pussy, however. Its cord reached only so far, and again frustration brought me to tears, tears of anger and sexual frustration alike. I lay down, put my feet up on the edges of the tub and pushed my body closer to the showerhead, ever closer, until my back arched like a gymnast’s and my pussy was pointed at the sky. I’d always been able to get off, repeatedly, to the ministrations of a stream of water, but not today. My level of excitement far exceeded any other experience with a shower head, but release seemed miles away. My clit would call for the stream of water, be almost satisfied and then be disturbed by the call of my pussy for a more general massage. Only inches away from each other, the stream of water could not satisfy both at the same time and all the while my breasts were calling for attention from my other hand. No matter where I put the attention of my two hands, the third area would frustrate the release of the other two. Finally, I had to push a breast upwards to my mouth, take the nipple into my mouth, suck it, bite it, roll it around, and then bite it again almost to the point of pain while my one hand played with my pussy and the water streamed onto my clit. The desire, the excitement kept building, building beyond the point of belief, until finally, my body arched almost completely onto the surface of the shower head, my fingers beating my clit to the point of pain, and my nipple bleeding, an orgasm swept over me in waves and waves. Not waves that receded, but waves that continued to build. My body flopped all over the tub, the shower head was no longer in my hands, and my hands were all over my body as the ecstasy continued. After what seemed like minutes, the waves began to subside and with all the energy left to me, I turned off the water. I lay back in the tub and grew unconscious with the words of a former lover of mine, a football player, in my head. “We left it all on the field.” To be continued…