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Learning Things With Friends.

Posted by: Age: 29 Posted on: 4 comments
6 likes 5791 views Category: Masturbation Female-Female Tags: masturbation, summer camp, arabian, lesbianism,

I learned a lot in those few weeks at camp with Laura, Noel, and my other new friends. This story is true, at least, as far as I can confirm. This is the first part of the story: http://www.solotouch.com/story/things-i-learned-at-camp-38780


Noel gave herself to me fully, completely, and utterly in the shower. We fingered, stroked, pounded, kissed, stimulated, and brought off one another in that little wet concrete stall. We both squirted towards the end, taking turns within one another, and when we had each had our fill of filling ourselves, we stood over the drain, spread our legs, put our fingers on each others’ clitorises, and peed. It was blissful beyond belief. Soaping each other down and getting well and truly clean, we kissed once more and toweled off, dressed, and walked hand in hand back towards our cabins. I was floating off the ground until about halfway to the cabin, after Noel hand branched off to go to her own cabin, when I realized I had cheated on Laura. Not that Laura and were dating, we’d only been playing with one another for a week, but I felt somehow almost disloyal. My world, my reality, had been threatened by my own lust, my own need for pleasure. And I loved it. On shaky, orgasmic legs, I wobbled back to Noel's cabin. Noel’s roommate had passed us by on the path to the showers, informing us haughtily that she was going to go to breakfast, then go kayaking after her shower, and that Noel would see her at dinner.     Her cabin was exactly like the one I shared with Laura, it smelled less of sex, though. In a wash of passion, of need. I kissed Noel, pinned her to the bed, and slid her panties aside. I was going to take her hard, I needed a win, a conquest, I’d never felt anything like this, and I’d felt quite a lot in the last week. I reached into her shower bag and pulled out her vibrator. “Batteries?” I said, the first word I’d exchanged with her. She reached into her suitcase and pulled out a battery as she ground her crotch against my left hand. I  could feel her wetness, her warmth. I wanted to be inside her, and cursed my body for not giving me a penis. Still, I had this silicon equivalent of one, and licking it once or twice, slid it into her and turned it on.    She gasped in pleasure. I pushed her onto her bed, brushing her shorts aside onto the floor, pulling off her soft cotton panties. I stripped, stripped her, pressed my burning body up against her just to feel the heat of her as I worked. Pausing, I maneuvered myself so that I could straddle the back of her vibrator, the part traditionally held in the hand, and slid my soaking pussy over it. Even soaking, it hurt. I’d never put anything this large into my pussy, and I could feel my walls stretch to accommodate it, feel my virginal cunt accept this new and vibrating delight. I screamed in surprise and pleasure as I scissored her, Noel’s vibe humming away in between us. Holding myself in that position was a feat of gymnastics, especially when Noel reached down and began to rub my clitoris, already engorged and near the point of over-stimulation.  The buzzing wood and glass smelling world of the small summer cabin, already giving that tarred wood smell that lingered under everything and in everything on hot days, turned into stars of white hot pleasure, desperate to be satisfied but never wanting to stop.    At 5’10” and 120 pounds, olive skinned, brown eyed, and raven haired, Sawsan was a stunner by any standards, once you saw her naked...I caught exactly one peek of her undressing in the girls' showers, and that was enough. By camp standards, she was an anomaly because she was a hijab-wearing Muslim from Saudi Arabia, only over in America while her father worked for an oil company in Texas, as something of a consultant, and her English was near-perfect; even if she was crushingly shy and hardly ever spoke, when she did, it was almost like hearing English as it should be spoken, accented with both French and Arabic, husky in a way strange for a girl so young, we were all young, still are, but Sawsan was a different matter. Not age wise, she was still 15, but different. At 13, I just knew her father was in business, that her family was almost impossibly wealthy (coming from wealth myself, even I was a bit struck by Sawsan’s almost dismissive manner of pretty much everyone else in the camp as servants), and that, once I discovered my own desires to pleasure every woman I fancied, desired, or lusted after, she would be on my list of…partners, I supposed. I didn’t have a word for the people I masturbated with, then. Now, I’d call them sex partners, because we fucked, as much as two young girls are able to, which is quite a lot, actually. We fucked, we fingered, we stroked, we licked, we used toys, we fucked asses, we kissed while a third girl stroked both of us, we played with all the resources available, and most importantly, most beautifully, we came, sometimes for the first time, sometimes just for the first time with someone else or a group of someones.    My chance to have Sawsan, to be alone with her, first came in the shared bathroom of the upper teen cabins, in the back of beyond, almost near the rolling hillside that led straight into the lakes around which the camp was centered. I saw her while I was reading outside the cabin Laura and I shared on the afternoon of my adventurous romp with Noel and my makeup talk with Laura, it was, in short, an emotional day for me, and I pleaded my period in order to get out of a nature hike and kayaking excursion that would take the next few days. Laura was left in charge of our cabin section and the non-hiking girls (all six of us (including Noel, Sawsan, Karyn, myself, Jessa, and Laura herself) were drifting around generally killing time in a solitary fashion. Sawsan was making a beeline towards the bathroom, about a hundred yards away from the cabins—we had a small, rather unpleasant wooden outhouse, with no facilities as such, a rotted wood floor, and flies beyond belief nearer to the cabins. If anyone thought girls shat rainbows and glitter, this place would disprove them of such notions. We referred to it as ‘the pit’ and never used it after the first few days, making the short walk to the ‘nice’ bathroom officially reserved only for daytime use in pairs. At night, we were told, we could use the outhouse so that we wouldn’t wander off into the woods and ‘get lost.’    A minute or so after Sawsan went in, I followed. The afternoon sun lit the bathroom’s interior in a way that could be called idyllic if the area lit were not a bathroom. As it was, though, the light and stillness made it seem like time was frozen. I moved into a stall, two over from Sawsan’s, covertly stripped off my shorts and panties, hanging them on a coat hook on the back of the stall door, and listened. I heard some rustling, likely the sound of her fixing her long flowing black robe which she wore even in camp. Other sounds followed, not the usual urination sounds but…something different. It was like she was doing some sort of  gymnastic routine in her stall. And then there was the almost beautiful sound of her peeing, following a sigh of bliss that needs no translator, it was the sound of a woman (girl, in her case) being relieved at the most physical level. Needing to pee anyway, I shrugged, listened to the sound of her urine passing, and let my own water flow. If she noticed me peeing, she didn’t acknowledge it—which wasn’t surprising, given her usual proclivity towards silence.    Then there was a sudden crash. Like she had fallen onto the tiled floor from the toilet. The sound of her urine hitting the bowl guttered out as she fell and was replaced, only briefly, by what sounded like pee hitting the tiles, before the much more telling sound of her body hitting the ground, hard. What I could only assume was cursing followed by a low moan followed. I had finished peeing, and spoke softly “Are you alright? Sawsan? It’s Katja.” There was a pause heavy in the summer air, punctuated only by the slam of Sawsan’s stall door as it swung open, the lock jarred open in the recent clamor. “Help.” Came Sawsan’s muted reply. So I got out of my stall and walked over to Sawsan’s and found her on the floor, with her abaya (the long black robe) hanging on the back of the open door, panties on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and ass in the air. It was, in all respects, the loveliest ass I think I had ever seen. “Are you alright?” I asked, knowing the answer would probably be no, judging by the strange position of her right leg and left arm. “I have fallen, it appears.” she said. I moved to help her up. I reached for her left arm because that was closest, she pulled back. “Right arm, Katja, please. Right arm. My left hand is impure and has not been washed. And I think it might be broken.” I took her right forearm and we managed to get her sitting up on the floor. She let out a hiss of pain as she put a little weight on her right leg. “Oh dear.” she said. “This is a very embarrassing situation. You have not only caught me naked, but my leg seems to be injured as well.” “It’s no big deal, Sawsan.” I said. “It happens to everyone.” trying desperately to halt her absolutely disarming blush. Looking back on everything, it is rather strange to think that two weeks before this particular point in time, I was curious about girls, but only dreamed of experimenting with them or myself, and now, I was gazing at an injured teenage Arabian beauty and I could feel myself getting wet. I wanted Sawsan. I didn’t care that she’d just fallen off a toilet doing who knows what, I wanted to pleasure her in every way, to make love to her. While I’d felt some sexual attraction for Laura and Noel, this was the first time I felt the pangs of what I know now was desire, burning in me. “But it is very bad. Even another woman should not look upon your nakedness.” Sawsan said. Realizing this was a case of cultural differences making nudity more taboo than I thought it was, I reached over to the door and handed her her robe. She used her right hand to drape it over herself without moving excessively. Together, we managed to fix her robe, find her sandals, and hobble out to find Laura.   A quick visit to the infirmary found us telling a rather believable story that Sawsan tripped on the road when we took a shortcut down a hill to one of the lakes that dotted the camp, Laura as our alibi. Sawsan’s left radius was broken, a  hairline fracture, and her right ankle sprained, according to the camp nurse, who was a cute perky blonde woman about thirty, dressed in a white open blouse that highlighted the curves of her full breasts, perfect breasts, maternal breasts, breasts you just wanted to suck on and fondle for hours (I ran into her, pregnant, a few years later and her breasts were...divine, Michelangelo could not have carved a more perfect tit from living marble. To make sure she was not further injured, the nurse (Janelle), gave Sawsan a physical, which Sawsan objected to at first, insisting it was only her arm that was hurt. Janelle pressed the issue as a medical necessity, saying it could either be done here in the medical office or in the hospital in town, with Doctor Abe, the very Protestant minister and town GP, some fifty miles away. Here, at least, Janelle said, Sawsan would have privacy.     Sawsan looked at Laura and I and blushed. I took Laura’s arm and guided her outside, smiling at Janelle and closing the door as I did so. Outside, we listened to the sound of the birds, bugs, and what parts of the conversation from inside we could overhear. “Your weight is good, and your development is coming along nicely for a girl your age. Have you had your period yet?” “Thank you, yes.” Examining "No lumps, noticed any lumps that shouldn't be there?" Thank you, no."  “I see you…have had an operation…here…is that common in your country? I thought it was…illegal everywhere” “No, it is not common, nor is it uncommon, it happens where it happens, officially it is illegal, which is why it is completely unofficial, and usually young girls have it done for a reason. We need it done, without that…” There was something else after this, but neither Laura nor I caught it. Janelle sighed heavily. “Well, everyone’s different, I guess. Wish it hadn't happened to you, though, no girl should have to bear that.” “Indeed Miss Janelle, indeed. Difference and uniqueness create beauty.” Sawsan said, seemingly reciting it from some hidden book of flowery maxims. Sawsan came out of the infirmary with a bandaged, splinted arm and an ace bandage around her right foot. Laura and I helped her hobble back to the campsite, where we deposited her the cabin that Laura and I shared, deeming that it was the most easily accessible to the bathroom and other facilities for the mobility-limited Sawsan. Laura smiled and touched my cheek as we put a light blanket over Sawsan while she slept. “You stay and keep her company, K. She’s…well, I’m sure she’ll be fun, once you get through to her.” Laura said, grabbing a small overnight bag and walking across the campsite to Noel’s cabin. I brought in dinner, a bowl of pasta boiled over the campfire, rustically delicious, oddly smoky even in my memory. We devoured it, and then, without speaking, our hands found each other, our eyes met, and our bodies merged into one fluid sexual being. It must have been early that morning, dawn creeping into the windows of the sex and sweat filled cabin we were sharing thanks to Laura’s understanding generosity and also her own desire to be with Noel in her cabin while I was exploring a “desert rose” as Laura called Sawsan. I’d had better, more mind-blowing sex with Laura, but with Sawsan, the sex was something different. It was, I realized, making love, not just sex, but the act and devotion of helping each other orgasm, again and again, from the time we lay down on the futon mattress that Laura had laid out on the floor, to the moment we drifted off to a warm, blissful sleep in each other’s arms.    We woke up and played around a bit. Sawsan had woken up first and woke me by fingering my slit. I managed to feign sleep until she brought me to orgasm, which totally made me lose control and start humping her hand vigorously. Laughing softly, she straddled my face and lowered her beautifully shaven pussy down onto my eager, waiting lips and tongue. There was still some dried blood from the combination of a shaving cut which we still had to treat gingerly and the breaking of her hymen the night before thanks to Laura leaving a very nice present behind for us in the form of a purple vibrator with a soft, gel-like exterior covered in ridges and curved to find the G-Spot of every girl. The scent of her sweat, blood, and pussy juices drove me wild. I wanted to enter her in ways I knew my anatomy prohibited from doing, so I just wrapped my arms around her body, grabbed her firm, perfect ass cheeks, and licked like I would never see her again. Gasping and realizing that her noises of pleasure might be heard outside the cabin in the early morning silence of the camp, she grabbed her hijab and wrapped it into a straight band. “Gag” she said as she bounced up and down on my face, my tongue delighting to explore every part of her. She tied the hijab-cum-gag around her head, fixing it on her lips just in time to let out a muffled scream of absolute pleasure. Her juices soaked my face as she came. Sawsan leaned back against the wall, naked body heaving, glistening with sweat, her bandages in slight disarray, her pussy dripping her juices onto the blanket below us. Her hand took my hand and guided it to her vulva, which was missing her clitoral hood and a bit of her lips. She smiled in a way that I know now to be somewhat fatalistic, accepting, and at the same time, hopeful. “My aunt cut that off when I was ten. Only my big sister coming in saved me from having my entire button cut off. It was really long, always, and I was touching it all the time because I mean, I knew I shouldn’t, knew it was forbidden, but it felt so good. I must have…had climax you call it? Cum? Yes, I must have cum for the first time when I was seven, eight? But I didn’t do it much, even though it was nice. When I was ten, though” Sawsan smiled “there was this girl named Fatima who was my roommate at school, we were in boarding school, of course, since seven, as anyone who has any money at all is, it’s how I learned English. Fatima and I shared our shower because it was easier to do that, we could wash each other’s backs and hair, and it was just so nice. It was also useful to have our shower directly adjoining our room, so that our modesty and privacy could be preserved. It meant nobody would barge in on us in the middle of something illicit, though at the time we thought that everything fun was illicit, and worried constantly. Fatima was the one who came up with the idea of "riding the camel" where one of us would lie down with pillows holding us up a little from the creaky beds (we had to be slow sometimes, or move to the floor, to avoid the creaking, which might arouse suspicion in the girls below us), the other would "mount" the recliner's face, placing their lips in line with those of their partner. Whichever one of us was the camel, we'd get to lick our rider, suck on her and make her explode and smell of soft sexual warmth, and that raw heat that I still feel in my pubis whenever I think of Fatima, of pleasure and unabashed devotion, of love.  About two months went by, and then Fatima discovered that I was growing hair on my mound, black curly  hair, and she wanted to touch it. I couldn’t really say no, since we were in the shower, and one thing led to another, which, well, we stopped showering, dried off, and then got very, very wet. We were explorers of a new and hidden world. You must understand, it’s not like it is here, with all the sex easy to see, there, everything is behind closed doors, hidden, secret, not talked about, especially sex between two woman, girls, it is not only unclean, it is illegal, the religious police would flog us if they knew what we did in our room every night, we were sure. We had been paraded out, girls only, of course, to watch a final year student be punished once. So we improvised our sex play, we started with stroking and focusing on our buttons and lips, and then we thought about licking each other, which we tried and found we really liked. It was that Eid when unimaginable horror crept in to our hearts, minds, and bodies with the perfect primness of a Riyadh matron escorting new girls around the city in a hooded troop like so many desert penguins. Fatima and I went to my father’s house for the celebrations, since her family lived in the north and we were really close by the school, it just made sense for her to be invited in. We stayed in the room I share with my sisters, and were pretty much excluded from the big night celebrations because we were too young, so we made our own fun as we had when we were at school together. My aunt, my father’s elder sister, the matriarch of the family in a lot of ways, had apparently come in late to the celebrations and wanted to bring us up a treat to say hello. Well, Fatima was licking me and fingering my clitoral hood while I was doing the same to her when my aunt must have opened the door, and then closed it and didn’t say anything to anyone until we were alone with her the next day. She said she knew what we’d been doing and that it was wrong, but that there was only one thing that needed to be done, and not to worry, for she had had it done when she was our age, and though she knew my mother hadn’t, my mother was something of a pariah in her eyes, and not a proper lady.     Both wanting to be proper ladies, and not really having a choice in the matter, we lay on the kitchen floor with our aba up on our stomachs, our underthings all pulled aside, and then she rubbed our slits with this ointment she had in her bag, a bag which I’d never seen her without. The ointment made things a bit tingly, cold but hot at the same time, it didn’t feel very good, but she didn’t say anything about it, and we assumed that was all she was going to do. Well, I assumed that, I’m not sure what Fatima assumed, poor girl. It seemed like a fitting bizarre adult punishment for two girls caught exploring one another. Just a slap on the wrist to remind us to never do that again. The next thing in her bag of tricks and terror was an electric razor, one of those buzz-cutting shears used by barbers. The ointment having set a bit, she went about the business of not unkindly shaving our small bushes of pubic hair. She muttered something as she shaved us. Too much hotness in girls these days, too much desire for the jinn of hedonism and westernism. Too much hair to be a true Muslim woman, She pulled something from her bag, but since I was looking at Fatima, and about to say something rude, I didn’t see what it was. My aunt was gripping Fatima’s pink lips and doing something to them, I saw the look of pain on Fatima’s face as she gasped and tried to recoil in fear, pulling her hips and lips away from whatever was happening. My aunt said "it’s just a few cuts, and then you’ll feel better." Fatima cried, begging my aunt to stop whatever she was going to do, 'no please no honored matriarch of the clan, please I'll be good we'll never do that again please', and I asked my aunt to stop what she was doing, but she didn’t listen. The floor was wet with Fatima’s piss and blood, radiating outward from her mutilated pussy. She pissed in fear, obviously. And then that scream, the scream of the bloom of her rose being plucked before she had a chance to have her husband deflower her, under very little anesthetics, so we would "remember" the lesson.My aunt didn’t notice or care, just kept going heedless of her pee. Thirty seconds later, she had put a rag in Fatima’s slit and was kneeling in between my legs. I don’t think I’d ever been so afraid. My button, I knew she was going to cut my button. She had a razor in her right hand, and was holding my hood with her left, because you don’t want to touch the unclean parts of another woman with your right hand, not in traditional society anyway. You don’t even touch yourself with your right hand. She had her razor out and then the burning started. It was burning rather than cutting, even though I know she was cutting me, it didn’t feel like I thought it would. It just felt electric in the worst way, like a fire had started in my hips and was burning its way through me. I screamed, understanding why Fatima screamed, why her expressions had changed as they did. She was weeping now, curled over on her side and away from me when I looked to her for support. I urinated in panic, hoping, I think, that it would get my aunt to stop and clean off her hands and face. She just tutted and went back to cutting my hood. And then the door opened, and my sister, Samira, was standing there. Samira was twenty four and married with a daughter and son of her own, and she very much saw herself as the matriarch of the family despite what our aunt thought. Without saying anything, she simply walked up behind my aunt, who had heard the door open and made one faster, and if possible more painful cut, and then Samira just picked her up by the back of her aba and threw her into the wall. I didn’t think Samira was capable of such things, it was like something from an American action movie, one of the ones we had sneaked in school, gave her a hard left hook, and then she was yelling at my aunt, who ran out of the house yelling something of her own about how she was right, and…then Samira was next to me, where my aunt had been, but trying desperately to help, to stop the bleeding that I could feel going on down there, to soothe both my cries and Fatima’s. It was a trip to the one women’s doctor in town later that day in order to get properly  fixed up.   What my aunt had tried to do was circumcise us, which is a custom among southern women, believing it is better sexually for future husbands, and discourages infidelity and, of course, lesbianism, even the playful, innocent, childish lesbianism that Fatima and I indulged in. When the bandages came off, my slit was different. It was the second week back at school and the nurse helped me undo the bandages while Fatima waited in the anteroom for her turn. My hood, above my button, had been cut off, along with the parts of my inner lips that had gone down below my outer lips, my veil, I called it. Now my veil was cut,  shorn by this evil woman who I was greatly disturbed to be related to. Samira had told my father what had happened, and my aunt was forbidden from visiting the estate ever again, with pain of prosecution for assault and indecency if she did. Mercifully, he did not disown me for my, ah, affair, with Fatima. According to Samira, we have never talked directly about the episode or surrounding events, masha'Allah, his response was a snort of amusement followed by a tilted head and "Is that all? She is not with a man before marriage or courtship, so she has done nothing wrong. It is what children do, touching of the same sex. They grow out of it. Or, like Hamid, they don't, which is not so popular to hear, but, he's family, he can fuck whom he likes as long as he keeps up his obligations to us and gives me a grandson or two."  My hair had grown back in the meantime, and formed a fuzzy black moss on my crotch. I waited while Fatima got her bandages removed, and heard the sound of her crying and the nurse comforting her, pausing to retrieve something from a locked drawer, and telling her to come back if she needed any more help. I didn’t understand this right away. Fatima and I had been both closer and farther apart ever since the incident. When we got up to our room, we showed each other our slits, mutilated as they were, for the first time since Eid. Her pubic hair had grown back too, and was a rich full tapestry of different shades of night black curls. Below her mons, though, was the horrible change I saw. Her clitoris had been cut off, and her inner lips greatly cut back, now invisible beneath her outer lips. She told me that the nurse had given her something that would help her achieve pleasure as before, but that she was not to show it to anyone. That being said, she showed it to me. It was a vibrator, of course, much like the one you used to on me tonight. It took some experimentation with it, but eventually we were able to bring Fatima to orgasm by working together, and once, with the help of Samira the next time that Fatima was down at the estate on a week’s holiday.    Last year, Fatima transferred schools to go to Lebanon and an American school there, and I have only heard letters from her since. Long letters, that say the nub of her clitoris is very sensitive, and not to blame myself for my aunt’s evil. And that’s the story of why my hood is missing. It…you are the first person I’ve told that to in English aside from what I told Miss Janelle, and I gave her the short story only. I just thought, I felt like…” Sawsan sputtered before breaking into tears. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her close to my chest, which was mildly awkward considering that she was taller than me, but she bent with my movements and soon ceased crying. “I feel like I’m hideous now, not something anyone would ever want to look at or touch, but you, you I don’t have that worry about, you are a second Fatima to me, and that means the world. Even Samira hasn’t seen my slit since the incident…I just can’t…admit that it happened, that Fatima and I were punished simply for exploring our bodies together. It makes me very angry.” Sawsan said, pounding her fist in rage on the bed. “And that’s why I wanted all the lights off last night. I didn’t want you to see me, even though I wanted you to see me.” I tilted my head down and kissed Sawsan deeply, crying tears of my own for her suffering and the joy I felt inside me. Eventually, our tears subsided into an embrace that led us to sleep, which led us to waking again when Laura opened the door to the cabin.  “Wake up, lovers, come on. It’s time for brunch.” she said, smiling, naked aside from some ratty pink sandals. Sawsan gasped at Laura’s appearance and was fumbling around the room for her abaya. Laura walked in and grabbed her left arm as she searched blindly through the pile of our clothes. “No, Sawsan, clothes aren’t needed for this brunch. It’s just us girls, in my cabin, and we’re all as naked as the day we were born, and we have waffles that Karyn brought back from the dining hall, and pancakes.” Sawsan hesitated and looked at me. “It’s alright. We’re friends, all of us, sisters, and being naked together is fun. It was fun with me, wasn’t it?” I said. Sawsan paused, and nodded slowly. I helped her get up, and we strolled across the small camp barefoot into Laura’s cabin. Noel, Jessa, Karyn, and Laura looked up at us and smiled. There were pancakes, and waffles, on the low wooden table in between them, and there was a vibrator buzzing away in Jessa’s unshaved pussy that had Karyn’s fingers attached to it. Noel waved at us through a mouthful of pancake. “Sawsan, Kat! Did you to have fun last night?” She asked, slightly muffled by the pancake in her mouth. Sawsan blushed and looked away. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her onto Laura’s bed. The whole cabin smelled of sex and sweat to a degree that made our cabin seem like a Glade-Plug-in commercial for the scent of teen sweat and pussy juices. Sawsan didn’t object to ending up halfway on my lap, and I smiled at Noel and said “Yes, we did. It was” I looked at Sawsan’s blushing face, ringed by dark hair “the best I’ve ever had. And I’d very much like to…” my fingers played up Sawsan inner thigh towards her shaved pussy “have many more nights.” Noel clapped her hands delightedly. “Good. Laura, Jessa, and Karyn…oh my god. I’m glad you girls had your fun, but we had ours too.” Noel reached over and slapped Karyn’s hand, sending the vibrator deeper into Jessa’s clearly dripping pussy, causing Jessa to yelp with a mix of pleasure and pain, mostly pleasure, but there was also some shock at the intrusion of the vibrator into her. “Jessa here still has her hymen, since she’s a virgin in every sense, so we’re trying to pop it slowly for her, and Laura thought it might be fun if we did it this way.” Noel explained, having  understood my curious glance. Jessa began to gyrate and thrust on her back, Karyn slid the vibrator out a bit and let it meet with Jessa's clitoral hood, Jessa let out a staggered unintelligible gasp, and Sawsan, trying to pretend to eat breakfast demurely instead of watching, whimpered, thinking that I couldn't hear, I guess...even though she was on my lap. She was noticeably turned on, her wet pussy dampening my upper thigh as she sat with her back towards me, yet still with one hand holding my hand, unconsciously squeezing it whenever she was especially turned on. 

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