 - Under what circumstances did you experience your first orgasm? How soon did it happened after you had your first sex? Would you give yourself the credit of, or was it your partner's experience or special concurrence of circumstances? Did you remember the first time as something special, or had you stronger sensations in later on?
My first orgasm I had at a body art session. I was at the third year of the university and led a rather frivolous life.
By that time there had been several men in my life - once I dated four at a time - but, honestly speaking, with none of them sex gave me real pleasure – enough to want to stay with him only. Most often I just accepted guys courting, without promising anybody anything.
At that time I had two admirers whom I had not slept with yet, they accompanied me everywhere, competing for my attention. At times I liked that, at times it pissed me off (do not know why).
Probably because I knew that I did not really need any of them, but the one I might need just did not happen to be around. I was not really happy with my life at that period. Probably that was why I did wild things at times, got in extreme situations all the time, I did not care about guys’ feelings at all. If they wanted to be with me, they were to accept me the way I was. I had to have my way regardless.
At one party I met a guy who introduced himself as body art artist. We started talking about the subject, and the conversation evoked everybody’s interest. I was interested too, very curious, asked him all kind of questions. He suggested we go to his studio and see some of his works (on photo, of course:)).
In spite of my friends protesting, (they were clearly jealous :)), I stated firmly that I was going to see works and those who did not want to go might as well stay. Of course they went.
The artist had a full portfolio of his works – of color printouts. All girls were naked, but it was not nudity that stroke me the most, but their fantastic, unearthly beauty. An ordinary female body looked like a work of art indeed!
I was so much impressed and got really excited, that I demanded the artist demonstrated his art right there and then – on me! Both of my companions protested vehemently and tried to talk me out of it, but I was inflexible. The painter only smirked.
Eventually I insisted on having it my way, went to the bathroom, took off my clothes and walked out stark naked. I understood very well how that made my admirers feel. Each of them dreamt of seeing me naked, but under different circumstances. :) On one hand they could not take their eyes off me, on the other must have felt humiliated, because I was not doing that for any of them – they had nothing to do with it.
The artist took his time examining me, as if thinking something over, asked me to take different positions, some were very seductive (the guys were going crazy in silence). But he behaved as if they were non-existent, as if we were alone with him. Then he mixed paints and proceeded with his work.
The very first touch of the cold brush to my body made me shiver. But then brisk strokes followed one another, as the artist outlined the motif of the future painting on my body.
In a few minutes my shivering stopped, because the first surprise was superceded with a different feeling. One of a very erotic nature, I must confess. I think Kim Basinger’s character in 9 ½ weeks must have felt the same being caressed with a cube of ice… and that tender brush above all… and that hungry staring of men and the whole ambiguity of the situation… :)
I closed my eyes and gave in to the sensation. It turned out to be even more acute that way. With eyes closed it was impossible to guess where the next stroke of the brush would be, and acute impulses coming from different spots pierced my body like lightning, strangely ricocheting lower, down there… with return waves going back from…
Extraordinary acute sensations I got when the brush touched my nipples, belly, my buttocks, legs, and not only them… I realized that I wanted those touches and was longing for them… Very soon I was no longer able to conceal it. My body was shaking and arching all over, and my sighs were very eloquent.
My friends were aware of what was going on, and demanded the session stopped indignantly, but I could not care less. I was pissed off with them for being unduly protective of me, and told them to shut up (opening my mouth with difficulty, I hated to be distracted).
The artist went on with his work, paying no attention whatsoever to our arguing. The culmination came when he began working on details in the area of my lower belly and below. I had to put one leg on the chair for that. The artist got to his knees in front of me and began stroking his brush looking up at me. Brisk and gentle strokes in the most delicate area drove me completely crazy…
I arched my back, gripping the back of the chair with one hand, and bluntly putting my pussy up to him. A few more strokes… and I bent sharply, trying to suppress a cry of joy… At that moment my friends jumped at the artist.
So, everything became a mess – I was coming, men were fighting… :))) Lesha (the artist), despite being short, was strong and sturdy. Pretty soon he calmed them down and they left cursing me and everything else in the world, having promised never talk to me again. I could not care less. :) I was still living through the special moments…
Lesha, imperturbable as a rock, and understanding everything, said: ‘That is ok. Happens to almost everybody. Let’s have you discharged completely first, or we will never finish the job’. He asked me to assume same position, took a clean brush and water, opened my pussy lips with two fingers and began ‘working’ tenderly on the insides. In a few minutes another strongest orgasm shattered my body and I clutched at his hair… That time I came for real, just as he predicted – so that I had enough and did not want any more for the time being:))
After a little rest he finished his painting, with me assisting without any special feelings… Then he led me to the mirror, so that I could appreciate the work… I was just great! Then Lesha took pictures of me at different angles for his portfolio…
Later, when I shown the pictures to my friends, along with a skilful painting everybody observed a strange aloof expression on my face, unusual shining in the eyes. :)) And only I knew the reason :))
I cannot say that that occasion influenced my sexuality directly. I mean not that I continued manipulations with the brush (although I would not mind repeating it given a chance:)). We remained just friends with Lesha.
But indirectly, of course, it influenced me. I changed a little. I became calmer and sort of happier, or sort of satisfied inside. Like Pechkin the Postman – the cartoon hero – after he was given a bicycle and stopped being a jerk. :)
I changed my attitude to sex. If before going to bed with a man I had expected him to exhibit his super skills and present me a cascade of divine pleasures on a silver plate, now I began to listen to the voice of my own body more. I began trying to catch and amplify the impulses pleasure known to me now and leading my partner in the direction he should take… And that approach has always paid me well! :)
Interesting, my next orgasm I reached with not the most experienced of my men, but with the most meticulous one. The one who bothered to spend time observing my reactions, and could, and, most important, was willing to understand in which direction he should go in order to please me…
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