I, Arielle: My Sex Diary

This happened back when I was 17. My boyfriend Ben and I went to his house one afternoon of July while nobody was home. We were already kissing furiously passing the doorstep. He was supposed to take my virginity that day but little did he know about that and I was way too embarassed to admit it.

Ben was one year older than me. He was very cute, tall, brown hair, well built and I had been suspecting for a while that his cock was superb as well. I had been dreaming about him for weeks before we started going out (and eventually making out) and I knew he had his eyes on me as well. I would often go watch his football games and even a few training sessions.

We climbed the stairs, me going first backward, unable to take our hands off each other’s bodies. Then he guided me to his room and laid me down on his bed. We didn’t even bother to close the window since we were on the second floor. We kissed and caressed longer and more intensely. He liked to brush my hair with his fingers, stare into my eyes, then kiss my eyelids, my cheeks, my neck. He was pressing himself against me, but I hesitated to do the same. I must have been so clumsy for my first time under a guy! But he didn’t seem to care. Desperate to save face nonetheless, I went down to his waist then pulled up his shirt, revealing his strong, hairy chest. He dominated me for a couple seconds when I could take a very good look at him half-naked, then falling back on me, pressing his erect member through his pants against my stomach.

Quite unexpectedly, he resumed kissing while pulling my arms above my head and holding them there. I didn’t understand why he moved a bit up to kneel until he had handcuffed my first wrist to the bed, and on with the second, so skillfully, without even needing to look at what he was doing. What the hell was he doing? I didn’t care much after all, I was way too much into it for that. His mouth slid to my neck, then to my chest, unbuttoning my shirt, kissing, breathing on my wet skin. He had removed my bra before I had realized it. I couldn’t believe how experienced he was! Compared to him, I was nothing but a timid virgin.

He knew too well that to do with a pair of breasts. Soon I couldn’t contain my moans as he kissed, massaged, licked, then squeezed my breasts gently but firmly, running his teeths on my erect nipples, sucking them. I wanted to hold him so badly but I was bound to the bed. It felt like he would explore my breasts forever. That doesn’t mean he neglected the rest of my body though, his hands taking great care of that. His touch made me shiver, especially when he reached my sensitive flanks. I moaned, groaned, laughed even more when he went further and pulled down my pants. He teased my wet pussy through my panties, then my inner thighs, then down to my feet, massaging them, sucking my toes. He was so good, far more than I had naively dreamed of.

Then he gently pulled down my panties and dived right between my legs, licking my pussy, pulling my lips, then sucking my swollen clit. Oh my god! I gasped and pushed my pelvis toward his mouth. The feeling of a man’s tongue is bliss and I literally begged him for more between two moans, while he lifted me high with a firm grasp on my buttocks, my legs over his shoulders. More, more! Tension was building up inside, I was feeling it. I closed my eyes, quivered, arched backward, moaned, screamed, gasped then screamed more, curled my toes, opened my legs wider. Oh yes! That’s it… His tongue was so sweet, so powerful, each of its moves sending waves of pleasure down my spine. I wanted to reach my breasts but I couldn’t, what didn’t stop me from pulling on my cuffs, on the edge of fainting from being unable to accelerate the process. It was lasting forever, driving me mad.

At some point I couldn’t even moan. I wanted to come so badly! I couldn’t believe it was taking that long, standing on the edge, but I knew it couldn’t take much longer. I felt it go beyond the point of no return, then I shivered as I finally climaxed in his mouth. I screamed, releasing the accumulated tension of what must have been half an hour of intense stimulation, shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. Then I begged him to stop, crying.

Good timing, I must say, as we heard a car entering the garage. His parents were back home early! He quickly released me, then I grabbed my clothes and ran to the bathroom while he put his shirt back on, just in time before they came inside. That was very close! I had never been that scared before in all my life. What a wonderful moment ruined, by the way. He would have to take my virginity another day. I can’t tell if I felt more disappointed or relieved, though. Perhaps I pitied Ben even more… I owed him one, but that’s another story.

I had my first orgasm at 13. I had learned about masturbation two years before, at sleepovers with friends. Three (or four?) times, conversations after lights off led to that topic and we all ended up masturbating, more or less at the same time. Well, not every one of us. Being the youngest, I didn’t have any prior experience. Besides, my genitals are quite sensitive and I can’t touch them directly (that is why I’ve come to love sex toys). I tried to masturbate with the others a bit, but every time I gave up after a minute or two. I would guess they were laughing of the baby who couldn’t even jill off behind my back. I didn’t care. Much.

Oh well, I admit it. I was ashamed of it. I thought I wasn’t normal, or sexual, whatever. I was too shy to ask anyone for help either, although now I realize it could have saved myself some trouble. Now I know a woman can get herself off without her fingers but back then I didn’t have a clue.

Now back to when I was thirteen. I came to notice that many people slept on their side with a pillow between their legs, my older sister among others. Twice in the past I had overheard her moans during the night; was she humping her pillow? I’ll never know.

I wanted to try the pillow too, so I picked one in the closet one evening, put my pajama on and went to bed. It was truly more comfortable, although I wasn’t used to sleep on my side (I had always slept either on my back or on my stomach). Habits being what they are, I sort of fell back on my stomach, the pillow blocking my legs on the side. Twisting a little more brought the pillow straight on my pussy. I didn’t realize immediately how pleasurable it was. But after a while I noticed I was moving my pelvis, humping the pillow. I stopped. What was I doing? I didn’t yet realize I was actually masturbating either. I resumed moving my pelvis. It felt good, so I kept doing it. I started to feel a strange warmth in my stomach too.

According to my bedside clock, about half an hour passed. I couldn’t sleep. At this point all I could think of was to keep massaging my pussy. Only then did I get it. I had found a new way to masturbate (or so I thought), and one that worked for me! Perhaps I should try harder then. I would have my waist face the bed even more, pressing my pussy harder against the pillow. Now it was feeling really good. I tried harder, my breath quickened and it became even pleasurable enough to moan a bit. My parents were watching TV upstairs so I didn’t worry too much about them, but too much noise could alert my sister in the next room. I tried to contain my moans, first by controlling myself, then by putting my face in my other pillow when I had to.

This lasted quite a while, two hours maybe. At some point my parents turned off the lights and went to bed so I would have to be a bit more careful not to get caught. My sister didn’t show sign of going to bed though; quite the contrary, she turned up the volume of her CD player, meaning she would stay up for most of the night as usual. Several times I thought she had heard me, but I couldn’t freeze completely. I had to continue humping. Each time I was terrified of getting caught.

How about another hour hanging on the edge of orgasm? Or two? I think I kept doing this most of the night, slowing down the pace then resuming, trying not to make too much noise. But at some point I pressed hard enough to go beyond the threshold… and rock the bed slightly. I couldn’t help keeping it up, though, as I sensed something coming down there. I kept it up another minute until I could hardly contain my moans any longer even with my pillow as I shook the bed for real, grinding as fast as I could, grabbing both sides of my mattress, quivering from the sudden wave of pleasure that spread through my body. I had just had my first orgasm and it was the most fantastic feeling I had ever experienced.

Of course my sister had heard that last part, even through the wall and the music. She came to my door and opened it.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine” I replied.

“Didn’t sound like it… Good night.”

Although it may have sounded like a nightmare, it was smelling something else through the room. She sure knew what I had been doing, but left me alone. Speaking of smell, I noticed my panties and the pillow were soaked with my juices (another thing I didn’t know). I had to change before going back to bed. If my sister still had doubts about what she heard a moment ago, they sure vanished when she heard the drawer.

At my birthday three weeks later, she met with me alone in my room and gave me a present. It was my first sex toy, a silver bullet vibrator. She told me it was small enough to hide so mom and dad wouldn’t find it. She also told me to be more quiet next time. I didn’t know what a vibrator was (none of my friends owned one and I was totally clueless by myself back then), but I knew what she was talking about and my face turned red. Before she left, I told her to wait, then searching for my words, I admitted I didn’t know what it was or how to use it. Now it was her face turning red, asking me if it was some sort of joke. I thought for a moment she would laugh but then, after freezing for a moment, she did the most unexpected thing.

“Mom and dad won’t come back anytime soon, so let’s give it a try,” she said. She tried to look confident but I knew she was a bit embarassed herself (and so was I; somehow I knew what would happen next). She taught me how to put the batteries in and turn it on. Then she told me to sit on the bed while she closed the door and pulled down the shades. “Now pull down your pants to your knees and lay down”, she told me, then “turn it on and put this on your clit. You can do it through your panties too. Yeah, like that. Do you feel anything?”

You bet I was. It took me a couple seconds to find the spot, but once I did, it instantly sent a chill through my spine. “Yeah,” I replied.

She laid down on the bed right next to me. She was three years older and her chest was fully developped. I couldn’t take my eyes away from it, envious; she was so sexy. But soon I would turn back to the ceiling as my feelings quickly intensified. That thing was much better than humping the pillow. Soon I started moaning, even though I was ashamed of doing it in front of my sister. I believe she didn’t want to watch, but didn’t want to leave either so she just laid there besides me, sort of witnessing the whole thing. She must have noticed it was taking long because just as I thought she would leave, she told me:

“Don’t you play with yourself while you do it?”

“What do you mean?” I managed to ask.

“Well, don’t you play with your boobs?”

I didn’t dare to answer because of the obvious fact that my breasts weren’t yet nearly big enough to deserve to be called boobs. Even compared to my friends’ they were ashamingly small. My bras were still AA cups at that time (to think my chest now wears 34C, I sure have grown up since). I was about to learn it didn’t matter though. She turned off the vibe. “Don’t worry,” she said, “it’ll only make it better once you resume it. Now remove your shirt,” that I relunctantly did, “then your bra,” that she did for me before laying back on the bed, her arms above her head. “I always play with myself before doing it. It’s called foreplay.” Then she told me to caress my breasts. I was getting so embarassed to do these things right next to my sister that I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

She sighted. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, but it didn’t make me feel better. “I hope you realize not too many girls your age have a big sister like me to teach them these things. Why not get it on while I’m still in the mood? I’m just trying to show you a couple tricks so that gift won’t go to waste.” Now that made me feel even worse, even though I knew she was just trying to help. Then she started to laugh. I was afraid she was laughing at me, but instead she removed her own shirt and bra and started to show me. “Won’t you do it with me, then?” she dared me. And so I did, but not before taking a good look at her generous chest and how she skillfully massaged her boobs with both full hands. She even pinced her nipples (that I don’t really like however). I started to imitate her. Soon her breath deepened, and so did mine. I had never realized before that touching my breasts could be pleasurable. Then I watched her slide her hands down to her stomach, then back up to her neck, down again to her ribs, her flanks, her waists, her tights, outside then inside, teasing her pussy, then crossing her arms, back up to her shoulders down to her arms, back to her chest, and so on, for a good fifteen minutes. It was very erotic. I enjoyed watching her pleasuring herself to the point that I would forget to accompany her (she reminded me twice to keep going). I did my best to explore my own body just like she did, even though it was obviously a bit awkward. I couldn’t believe we were doing this. But at the same time sharing my pleasure with a more experience person was very arousing and I learned a lot from watching her. Also, it was a lot less embarassing that way.

Then she pulled down her jeans and started to tease herself between the legs, slowly closing to her pussy, withdrawing, caressing her stomach, her breasts, then down to her tights and crotch. She removed her panties only once they were soaked, and threw them away with the jeans while removing her socks. Once in a while she would quickly explain me a thing or two between two moans. I enjoyed imitating her, teasing myself just like she was doing. Then she started to stroke herself, insisting it was the right time. First she went slowly, then suddenly quickened pace. She grabbed a breast with her free hand and moaned even more. Then I followed myself, turning the silver bullet back on and putting it on my clit. That amazing feeling returned, intensified once I, too, reached one of my breast. My sister was right about all this: it was intensely more pleasurable that way.

Then she released her breast, pulled her hair and stopped stroking. I knew she hadn’t come yet. “Stop right before you cum and wait,” she said.

I nonetheless continued for a couple more minutes before reaching that point. I stopped just in time like she had. Meanwhile, she had already resumed and stopped again. “You should do that for as long as you can stand it, ” she explained. “Then when you get yourself off, it’ll be fantastic.” We were both laying there side by side, motionless. Then we resumed and stopped again almost together. “I can keep this up for hours,” she admitted. “Sometimes I spend most of the night jilling. I put some music so no one will hear anything.” In other words, she had just confessed she had been masturbating quite often right next to me, including the very night she caught me humping my pillow. “Sometimes I do it on the phone with my boyfriend too,” she continued.

We kept doing this for another half hour, I believe. She taught me you can put the bullet inside your pussy and something about that pleasurable spot on the upper wall. I explored my vagina looking for it while she vigorously fingered herself. We moaned and groaned, grabbing the sheets, our eyes rolling backward. Finally, neither of us could take it anymore and we came together in unison, shaking the bed. It was just as fantastic as she told me it would. Both of us laid there afterward for at least five minutes, all sweaty, quivering, shivering, still moaning.

Afterward she told me how to clean the bullet and even suggested a place where I could hide it: behind my bedtable’s drawer (it was detachable and there was some room left). We became very close on that day and for as long as we stayed under one roof, we kept masturbating together about twice a month; she taught me everything she knew.

This happened about five months ago. It is my most amazing and unusual sexual experience to date.

I returned from work past 1PM that night and I was completely exhausted… or so I thought. I just dropped everything and laid down on the sofa, which is right next to the window. The view is very beautiful and the moon was full, so I didn’t even bother to open the lights. I just laid there, facing the ceiling, my arms hanging above my head. I untied my hair, then put my hands back on my stomach and rested.

More than once have I just fallen asleep there, but not that night. For some reason I couldn’t close my eyes; all I could do was stare at the ceiling or admire the view outside. From the window I could see the entire illuminated city below. It was wonderful.

I was definitely too tense to sleep, so I lit some candles. Perhaps I would read a novel, something I hadn’t done since time immemorial. But in the end, I was just too lazy to get on my feet and grab one. My body felt like it was weighting one ton.

For minutes, I would just dip my right hand fingers into the wax of one of the larger candles. It was hot, but bearable. The air was unbearably hot however, even with the window open, so my left hand ended up unbuttoning my sweaty blouse, and why not removing my skirt while being at it. Then I derived half-naked on the sofa for several minutes. But I still couldn’t sleep. Too tense. Too hot.

Somehow I ended up putting my fingers in my panties. Yeah, those fingers with candle wax on them. I didn’t exactly touch myself yet, but I realized that spending the last two years in a constant rush at work meant spending that many years without having sex. I didn’t even think of masturbating and besides, I had never been really fond of touching myself with my bare fingers; somehow I’ve always found that uncomfortable. But then I wondered how it would feel like with warm, wax-coated fingers. I asked my clit and it told me it liked that, even though it was rather hot. But then I removed my fingers immediately.

I knew I was going to do it anyway. It was obvious. I couldn’t help caressing my stomach, fingers stretched, brushing my pubic hair, teasing myself. That exercise would draw me insane. I don’t know how much time I managed to stand this, but it looked like hours. Tortured by desire, on the edge of madness, I soaked my panties with my wetness. I was a bit afraid of soaking the leather sofa as well, so I discarded my panties, grabbed the first piece of cloth I found and sat on it.

My bras have always been a bit tight, so when my nipples erected, it started to hurt. I removed and threw my bra away, then began to caress my breasts with both hands. I enjoyed the feeling of the wax on my right breast. For some reason, I tried to keep my hand away from my pussy by caressing and squeezing my breasts harder. Boy, it felt good. They say sex is just better after long periods of abstinence and the longer the better; I can testify in favor of that. I think I came just by massaging my breasts, I’m not sure. My breath became deeper and longer as I focused on my very sensitive nipples. I was so eager to touch my pussy that I started to make pelvic movements.

As I pivoted my head toward the window, I was compelled to dip my fingers into the wax again. Besides, I knew what I was going to do next. I didn’t even wait for the wax to cool off a bit to put them straight on my tingling, pulsing clit (I had never really touched it directly before, only through the hood) and start stroking and circling. It felt like when you eat something spicy; you almost burn your tongue but it tastes just too good (I love spicy food). Meanwhile, my left hand would squeeze my breast or caress my inner tight. I breathed deeply and heavily, faster as seconds looking like minutes passed. I couldn’t help moving my pelvis and contracting all my muscles. Never before had I felt something that intense, and I hadn’t even reached orgasm yet! I’ve always been slow to come but that night it seemed like it would never come at all. In fact, I almost dreaded it wouldn’t.

And then I came. I arched my back and moaned like there was no tomorrow as lightning struck through my spine and nearly broke my neck. It lasted as longer as it took to reach it. At some point it was so intense that I almost fell off the sofa. And then it slowly faded away. I couldn’t help to keep moaning and breathing loudly, just as I couldn’t help keeping my fingers between my legs, then slide them down to my lips. I had never been able to finger myself before like my high school friends did; perhaps it was because I wasn’t wet enough, but I tried with jelly once and it didn’t work out either. Despite the experience I had just suffered (I still couldn’t believe it nor recover), I had to try with candle wax. I had to. That mere thought compelled me to try it out. Several minutes later, of course, once I was able to get my shaking hand off my pussy.

I started by coating some on my stomach, then dipping again, on my breasts, then again, on my inner tights. I dreaded to do in on my lips so I proceeded slowly. It was a-ma-zing. The warm feeling was so breathtaking. As I gently put my three generously dipped fingers inside, I arched my back even more violently than before, sitting back on the sofa, bending my head backward, staring at the ceiling, mouth wide open, groaning, moaning louder than I thought I could. The feeling was electric. My eyes started to move real fast on their own and for a second I felt like they would roll backward like in the movies, exposing only the white part of the ocular globe. I had to pull my legs back (still widely spread apart) and sit in fetal position. I can’t accurately describe the feeling in my vagina. It felt somewhere between warm and hot, penetrating to the deepest layers of the walls inside, a bit like mint or Vicks. But much stronger. I felt every single of my nervous endings being intensely and continuously stimulated by the wax, amplified by movements of my fingers which were coating it everywhere with circular and pressing motion, mixing it with my abundant juices. I didn’t care how I would take that out at the moment; all that mattered was to move my fingers and my pelvis, squeezing my fingers with what I believe to be my Kegel muscle.

I fell back and kept fingering myself, my left hand reaching my breast, my legs extending farther and spreading wider than I thought possible, as I started to breathe and moan louder and faster. My heart pounded so hard that I could feel it in my chest and through my temples. Drops of sweat were running on my neck, my chest, my abdomen, my tights, making their way through the wax. I could feel my entire body throbbing and my mind was getting sharper than it ever had been, noticing every single detail, amplifying every single sensation, reaching through every nerve ending. I felt a burst of warmth contrasting with the coldness of my sweat. I remember during that eternity how the light of the candles reflected on the ceiling and how beautiful it was, how it looked like it was turning but it was my head that was spinning due to euphoria, how everything around appeared to sparkle like magic. I almost felt like my mind was reaching outside my body. Well, almost.

How long did I finger myself like that? I don’t know. For quite a while I guess. It seems like that feeling of self-awareness considerably delayed the nonetheless unavoidable orgasm, which at some point I felt would be considerably more intense itself. That precise feeling brought me back to reality as I knew I was about to come. Then I began thrusting my fingers quite violently against the upper wall and that is how I believe I have located my G-spot. Just as I had previously thought it couldn’t get any better (worse), I almost exploded. I stroked that precise spot at an almost supernatural speed, rising up a bit, supporting myself on my left elbow, my left hand painfully squeezing my breast (I couldn’t lessen my grip), and then I came again. Even with a vibrator or when being eaten by a guy I’ve never felt anything like that, ever. I screamed with pleasure as I fell back violently and arched my back and pushed my pelvis forward, bending my knees (my legs were hanging each side of the seat), standing on my toes, cramping my right hand and involuntarily stroking my clit with my palm, planting my left hand’s nails into my flesh, screaming louder and louder until I ran out of air, gasping then resuming my moans, shedding tears of joy that ran down my cheeks. It lasted forever, that undescribable mixture of intense pleasure and pain. Well, less than a minute, probably, but far longer than any other orgasm I had experienced before. I had violent, rapid spasms throughout the orgasm and even several minutes afterward, breathing faster and my heart pounding harder than after thirty minutes of jogging. As I rested, laying on the sofa, still shaking from the experience, I realized how much of a sport jilling could be.

My body was hurting so much that I couldn’t move, yet I was feeling very well, relaxed. I was remembering how it felt like to be a woman as I slowly derived toward sleep, completely exhausted (now I was), intoxicated by the smells of sweat, juices, perfumed candles. I spent the night naked on the sofa, three fingers inside my pussy, coated with candle wax, right next to a wide open window for everyone to enjoy the view (well, they would need googles, or a telescope, I guess). I almost wished that happened; it was too great an experience not to share with others. That is why I’m writing it down, by the way. It’s truly once in a lifetime.

The next weekend I told that experience to my best friend, Vanessa. She is sexually more open (and much less shy) than me and she had told me a couple of her own experiences before (either solo or with a boyfriend). To my surprise, she gently brushed and caressed my hair like my mom used to do long ago. “Stress must come out one way or another, sister”, she told me, and that she had told me it would happen sooner or later, don’t I remember? We ended up talking about solo fun all afternoon, sharing experiences, ideas, even toys. Thanks to her, masturbation has become a ritual for me, while she seeks a boyfriend suitable to a workaholic like myself. By the way, she ended up trying the candle wax thing, but it didn’t work out nearly as well as it did for me; in fact, she almost burned her fingers right away and didn’t have enough resolve to try it on her genitals. It mustn’t be her thing, I guess.

Oh my gosh, I didn’t intend to write that much; I must have gotten carried away. So much has happened since that day, I have plenty more material to write about and share with the world, so I may post more stories soon.

P.S.: Playing with candle wax is kinda messy, especially if you put some into your vagina. Once it dries up inside, it’s pretty hard to take it out and you have no other option than using your fingers to take every single fragment out. Think twice before trying this. It’s really messy.

Oh, and candle wax is rather hot. If you’re not the type to eat real spicy food or grab a hot plate with your bare hands, you may not want that thing on your pussy either, let alone inside, and even if you do, be careful not to burn yourself. Really, I made some research on the web and it turns out to be a bit more hardcore than I first thought.