May is National Masturbation Month, so as some of my prior posts, I am dedicating this one to masturbation. Specifically, my masturbation.
When I masturbate, I fantasize. Without the fantasy, the orgasm won’t come. The fantasy is tied to my pleasure; as my pleasure builds, so does my fantasy, which triggers more pleasure, and, hopefully, the eventual orgasm.
Some years ago I came up with a favorite masturbation fantasy. I’m really not sure where it came from. A few weeks ago, I told the BF about this fantasy. He’s the first person I ever told about it. He was dumbstruck, and later when we masturbated together, it was the topic of some pretty dirty, dirty talk.
I am traveling through a jungle area, in search of something. Sometimes its a plant, sometimes an animal, it could be a language. It doesn’t matter. I am foreign to the area. It is relatively unexplored. I am afraid of the natives; there are many troubling tales about them. I am with my boyfriend/husband who is accompanying me out of companionship than interest in my research. We reach a clearing.
It is a village. There are hammocks in open air “huts” for lack of a better word. The villagers all look at me; its obvious they are from a variety of backgrounds as the skin and hair color varies quite a bit. When I enter the clearing, all activity stops and they stare at me. Some are clothed, some are completely naked. It’s confusing.
I’m caught off guard; I was not expecting to see anyone, much less an entire village of the natives who are so mysterious. I stop and look back at them, nervous. My boyfriend is behind me, unsure of what to do.
I approach slowly, trying to approach in a cautious yet friendly manner. No one else moves. They watch me move toward the empty center square.
Suddenly, there’s a shout and the people rush. I am surrounded and caught up in arms of men and women. My boyfriend is caught also and pulled away. We are unsure what is happening. There is fear. He is pulled away to the side and tied up to a pole: ankles, knees, waist, hands, chest. Some men bring over a wooden apparatus near the center of the clearing where I am held and currently gagged. Its a rough wooden table, or so it appears. They strip me of my clothes, lay me down on my back, and bind me to it. I can’t move.
I look to my boyfriend in support. He is frightened, nervous for me. The villagers take my legs and spread them apart, wide out to the sides. My arms are tied out to the side. I am laid bare for all to see. I whimper in fear.
The men circle around me. Now they are all naked. They have their cocks in their hands and they are jacking off around me. I can barely see through them to the boyfriend. A woman approaches my head and in a barely discernible accent, she explains my purpose. This village prides itself on its ability to please women. Each man is expected to please each woman at least once. If she is not clearly satisfied, then he is considered not a man until he is able to do so. They take this training very seriously. In order to pass through the village, I must be pleased by every man.
My mind is reeling, uncertain what to expect. I’m to be “fed” to the men who know nothing about me. I am to be used and used until they have all gained manhood status again.
And it starts. (This is where my story starts to vary depending on my mood and desires).
Sometimes, the first is inexperienced. He doesn’t know quite how to touch, what to do. He is tender, careful, and jumpy. The elders tell him what to do more of based on my reactions. The young, inexperienced ones always rely on manual stimulation. My clit is a guaranteed orgasm, but it takes so long. I cum very hard.
Sometimes, the first is talented orally. He is known for his ability to give oral pleasure to women. When he kneels before my pussy, the women of the village chuckle, knowing that I am about to experience something wonderful, intoxicating.
Sometimes, the first is the one with the smallest penis. The first to start fucking me. The first to stretch me out as they work up through the sizes. He thumbs my clit while he fucks me. I cum quickly, before he is satisfied.
If I cum before he cums, then he stops and continues to jack off around me. I am surrounded by hard dicks pointing at me. They loom over me. Sometimes I am forced to rub them while they play with my cunt. Sometimes I am forced to suck on them while another fucks me.
This is where I normally orgasm. The story never progresses very long.
Before the BF, my partner was always sickened and saddened by my treatment. I never wanted to cum but they forced me to.
Now that the BF is in my life and sex has changed, so has the story. Now, I look through the sea of throbbing hard-ons and see the BF with his own hard-on. He sees my body, sees my pleasure, hears my moans. He is jealous, turned on, desires. The women of the village laugh at him. The slap at his cock and ass while he watches.
Will he be forced to pleasure all of the women? I don’t know. Will he be forced to pleasure me? Perhaps. Will he be able to resist pleasuring me? No, probably not.
In the end, I cum, moaning and screaming. I imagine the fingers, the tongues, the cocks. In my mind, its all very real.
On a sex nerd kind of note (because I read books about sex and culture often), I was pleased to read in my copy of Jonathan Margolis’ book, O: The Intimate History of the Orgasm about the Mangaia people of the Cook Islands where sex is something that is taught by the elders and it is expected that a woman should have multiple orgasms for each session of sex. Males are taught that if they cannot and do not please their woman sufficiently, she will search for another source of pleasure. In a way, I see this fantasy as an extension of that kind of culture.