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I think I knew when I was relatively young that I was at least a bit bigger than the average girl of my age. I wasn’t a ‘big’ girl in the sense that I was chubby, or overweight, or even particularly tall, but while most of my friends wouldn’t have really given me a second glance, those that might have seen me changing for swimming, or perhaps in the showers following gym would have noticed (if they had been looking), that I was let’s say, a little more developed between my legs.
This wasn’t a problem for me – quite the opposite! I learned quite early that I was sensitive down there, and I loved the sensation when I casually brushed my fingers over my developing lips. This could take pretty much any form – sometimes through my jeans, sometimes over my panties (or even in them if the surroundings allowed) and in bed, over my completely uncovered mound and lightly growing bush. Every type of experience provided a different awareness, and I loved it.
Perhaps I should introduce myself a little more formally. I am Andrea and I am now nearing my mid- twenties. As I said in my intro, I am nothing particularly special to look at (at least I don’t think so), but to complete the picture, I am about 5’7″, shortish brown to coppery hair, good legs, small bumps for boobs and am usually seen with a happy smile.
Having said that I have small bumps for boobs, they may be small (although I am quite happy with them) but my nips are nicely responsive. However, my tits are not the main area of my attention. By the time I was in my mid-teens I recognised it was my pussy that really got my attention, and as time moved on I became fixated by it. I am sure that most girls masturbate periodically, but for me it was the thing which occupied most of my time when I was on my own or when circumstances allowed. I would dream up new ways to get aroused (not that it took much) and would spend lunch and break times wondering what would feel good on that particular day, evening, and on Fridays, what I could use over the weekend.
I enjoyed school, got on well academically and mixed easily. I had a good friend, Sam, who lived very close to me and we socialised together a lot. We were both keen on sports, played hockey and did athletics. Sam was a better looking girl than me with longer hair, longer legs and athletically fit. I wouldn’t say that I had any particular sexual leanings and I had good friends of both sexes, but I probably spent more time with Sam than with the others and we hung out quite a bit together during weekends and holiday breaks. We were busy in the evenings with Hockey in the winter and either training for, or competing in athletics for the school in the summer.
At the end of our final year we both decided to go for our A Levels, and this meant 6th form as our school did not offer A Levels. We had a couple of choices but ended up going to the same college to do more or less the same subjects. College gave us a lot more freedom than school and we were able to spend more time doing sport, and we didn’t need to spend all day on campus. This together with a combination of a couple of other things probably became a turning point,
Sam had always had (to my mind anyway) a good body, and she didn’t seem to mind showing it off. She wore pretty regular casual wear to college, but skirts more often than jeans, and tight fitting tees or tops which seemed designed to show off her bust to maximum effect. But it was during the extra-curricular time that it really manifested itself. She would typically be the first one out of her clothes, and never seemed in any real hurry to get kitted up. She would wander around the changing area completely naked, talking to fellow athletes or players with seemingly not a care about the fact that she was nude. Her showers seemed to last longer than anybody else’s, and then she would take time getting dried off, often with one foot on a bench and one on the floor, or sitting down with her legs open just a bit wider than seemed necessary, and was just so casual about it.
Our birthdays were fairly close together and we both hit eighteen during the second term at college. By now we had taken to stopping over at each other’s houses particularly when we had homework for the same subjects, and sometimes after training or matches. Sam lived with her Mum in a typical medium size three bed semi, but she had a large room with twin beds in it. Her Mum was a nurse (I think a Sister or a Staff nurse) and worked shifts, so we routinely had time to ourselves. It was on one such afternoon that the dynamic started to shift a little bit.
We had had a hockey practice on a Saturday morning, and then both went back to Sam’s house. Her Mum was at work and when we got to Sam’s room, Sam started to strip off again. I was mildly surprised even though I had seen her naked literally hundreds of times, but somehow this seemed different. I was sitting on ‘my’ bed (the one I usually used when I stopped over), with my back to the wall and once naked she sat more or less opposite me. I think I asked why she had undressed and she came back with a comment along the lines of that she loved being naked. I’m not güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri quite sure what made me say it, but I said ‘you mean you like showing yourself off?’ There was a deafening silence, and then in a hushed voice she said ‘yes – it really turns me on’. I felt I just had to probe further, so this time I asked ‘you mean like showing off, or exposing yourself?’ I think I knew the answer before it came, but she nodded and then added, ‘exposing myself’. By now I was somewhere between shaking and thrilled. I could feel the familiar arousal enveloping me and then she almost blew me away with the comment that ‘I wish I had a cunt like yours’. I’d been kicking the ‘C’ word around in my inner mind for quite a while (‘pussy’ sounded a bit prim to me) but couldn’t quite bring myself to use it even though I felt it was a much more descriptive word for what I had.
My chest was pounding and I asked her what she meant. She went on to say that she thought her cunt looked a bit like a young woman’s, and she wanted something bigger. By now she was opening and closing her legs and I told her if she wanted to expose herself to me, feel free to go ahead and do so – I wanted to see it properly. She opened her legs fully and I thought that although she looked different to me, I liked the way her smallish lips were starting to open and especially the glistening wetness that was gathering around her thighs. I couldn’t really hold back any more and asked if she wanted to see mine, and she simply nodded, but quite emphatically. I am certain she will have already been able to see that my panties were developing a large and growing damp spot, so I lifted my hockey skirt (which I had left on after practice) and slipped my briefs down and over my feet. I sat back on the bed, put my feet on the mattress and opened my legs wide. Her eyes were almost glazed over. She said something like ‘Christ, you’re so much bigger than me’, and that made me cream up. I sort of always knew I had a big one, but it was the first time I had kind of heard it confirmed.
She said ‘if I had a cunt like yours I would be able to leave it alone’. I whispered back, ‘I don’t’. She just went ‘Oh my God’ and started rubbing herself. It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen – somebody apparently masturbating over my overly large hole, and I encouraged her to cum. Her response was that she would cum quicker if I watched her, so I slid forward on the bed a bit to look a bit closer.
I couldn’t watch without doing something, so I just started to slide my fingers around my lips, and to separate them and rub the slippery wetness from within around them. This seem to push her over the edge, and she came noisily. I thought that she would be tense afterwards, but she cleaned up her bed cover and remained naked until almost 10 o’clock. She said her Mum finished shift at 10 so she better put some clothes on.
If Sam had ever felt self-conscious about this turn of events, she never mentioned it or displayed any signs of it, and although it was never discussed during college time, when we went back to her house (which was typically a couple of times a week), she would strip off, and almost flaunt her body in front of me.
By now I was becoming increasingly obsessed with my cunt (and this is how I now liked to refer to it – pussy just sounded a bit prissy) and I liked nothing better than pulling on my fleshy lips and pushing multiple fingers into myself whenever the opportunity arose. There were several afternoons or nights when we sat on her single bed and watched each other get worked up. I remember vividly on one occasion when we had been on separate beds and she got up and stood in front of me with her legs a good way apart, her cunt just inches away from my face and at eye level. At the same time, she was encouraging me like crazy with comments like ‘get another finger in’ and ‘open yourself wider’. Just as I was close to cumming she murmured in a little bit more than a whisper ‘God I love your big cunt.’ That pushed me over the edge and although my orgasms were always pretty good, this time I was practically frothing over. I was beginning to like hearing that sort of comment about myself and I would will her on to talk about my hole almost as an abstract thing. There was another memorable juncture when I was desperate to hear it just after I came because I thought it would give me another orgasm (you know that feeling when you are just hovering on a knife edge and you know you can cum again), and I think I asked her ‘do you really think I’m that big?’ and she just said in a rather quite voice, ‘you should see my Mum’s.’ That retort became etched on my mind for a very long time although we never actually spoke along those lines again it did get me wandering about her mum’s cunt, and how did Sam know this?
I had started to think more about underwear (panties mainly as I didn’t often wear a bra). What would feel best against my lips, and more importantly, what would give me the greater pleasure when I rubbed myself from the outside of the gusset. I tried several types. The lacy ones didn’t really do it for me, and although the more güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri satiny silky ones worked quite well, I discovered that it was the soft, fine cotton types that really did the trick. The best ones (that I still wear to this day) were the Cotton Sloggi String or Brazilian briefs. I love the way my cunt feels through them – I like to feel my cunt through the cotton, especially when I am wet. I pull them up with one hand so that they are very tight over my sex and then rub my fingers over my lips and push them inwards into my hole. They feel delicious when they are covered in my wetness and I can sometimes cum from this type of play, without skin on skin contact between my fingers and lips. I’ve got dozens of pairs and usually carry a spare pair in my bag.
Life carried on – the ‘sessions’ with Sam continued and we were getting increasingly vocal which was leading to perhaps not bigger orgasms, but certainly longer ones. However, we were getting to the point where we were going to have to make some career decisions. Sam wanted to become a Vet and this was going to necessitate a move on her part, and her preference was Edinburgh. I grappled with this for a while, because although we weren’t lovers, we certainly were pretty close and I enjoyed our ‘us’ time immensely. I was more interested in nursing and Sam’s Mum Helen brought me up to speed on the various routes into nursing. I half thought about following Sam to Edinburgh, but in the interest of my financial status, my instinct was to study locally and remain at home.
This plan was starting to work itself out quite nicely and although I missed Sam, we managed to get a bit of time together between terms and I occasionally went up to Edinburgh for a weekend. I was getting plenty of enjoyment from pleasuring myself, and more importantly, opening my hole up. By now I could slip four fingers inside myself quite easily and with very little foreplay and I loved it. Sam and I would speak or Skype pretty regularly, and although I think we were both missing our ‘sessions’ we could often bring each other off through a combination of verbally taunting each other – especially Sam to me. She was constantly wanting to know how I was getting on. She would ask in a strained voice things like ‘how many of your fingers can you take now’ or ‘are you still tugging your lips to keep them nice flappy?’ I knew for sure she would be playing with herself during these calls, and I didn’t hold back in letting her know I was doing the same.
Things were going swimmingly until my parents told me one Friday evening that my father was being made redundant, with an unexpectedly substantial pay-off. My Mum and Dad had been exploring France and Spain as somewhere to live when they retired, and already had a small place on the French Spanish border. Although he was too young to retire, they were now apparently planning to move early and take lower paid, less stressful jobs to tide them over until their early sixties, and selling our house was going to provide not only funding for a larger property in Europe, but would add to their savings. This was looking like it was going to be a bit traumatic, and that I would have to move into student accommodation. I certainly couldn’t afford to buy or rent, but my Dad was volunteering to subsidise my student outgoings.
I was in regular touch with Sam’s Mum Helen, and would stay over for an occasional evening if my Mum and Dad were on holiday or away for more than a weekend, and obviously, when Sam was at home, and it was Helen who came to my rescue. She wanted some company, was reluctant to advertise for a lodger (‘you never know who you might end up with’ was a regular response to that particular notion), and felt that we had not only known each other since Sam and I were kids, but that it would be an easy compromise. So, some three or four months after this particular bombshell, I moved into the spare room (not Sam’s), and all was back on an even keel. I was very happy, and it didn’t really seem like an upheaval.
Helen’s hours varied according to her shifts, and when we were both at home, there would be nights where we would share dinner and watch TV (Strictly Come Dancing was a particular favourite), and others when we simply ‘did our own thing’. It was an easy relationship, and I don’t think we ever felt in each other’s way.
One Friday night when I was back from a hockey game (yes, I was still playing), we had gone to a bar and I got back to Helen’s on the run up to 11:00pm. I went for a shower, and I vaguely heard Helen come into the house, late back from a staff night out of some sort. I didn’t really pay any attention until I heard a tap on the bathroom door (even though it was half open anyway). Helen just said something like ‘sorry – can’t wait’ and proceeded to the toilet. I was half turned away from her, in a sort of an unconscious effort to give her some privacy. I had seen Helen several times in just underwear (difficult not to when there are just females living in a house), but when I turned round because I thought she had finished, I saw something that almost froze me to the spot. Helen güvenilir bahis şirketleri had a skirt on that was now pulled up behind her, and her pants were around one ankle. Her legs were halfway apart, and she was looking absently at or through the still partially open door. What made me do a double take was that the fingers of her left hand had hold of her lips, with her middle finger between her lips, and her index and ring fingers either side of them, almost pulling them open and upwards. This in itself was an eye opener (for me anyway!), but it was the size of her gash that really took my breath away. I turned away and must have stood stock still. I don’t think Helen was aware that I had seen her like this but I was suddenly mindful that I hadn’t moved since I had turned away. I waited until I heard the flush (which in turn sent the shower hot for a few seconds, but I was already in a hot flush), and slowly finished showering. I went back to my room and was somewhere between mesmerised and disbelieving – had I really seen what I thought I had seen?
The image lived with me for days. Actually, it lived with me for weeks come to think of it, and it was getting to the point that most times when I was working myself to orgasm, that freeze frame in time drifted into my mind, and it would be the thing that pushed me over the edge.
I had weeks of this image swirling around in my sub-consciousness. I desperately wanted to see it again if only to confirm that what I thought I had seen wasn’t just the result of an over active imagination. The problem was, I couldn’t think of a way by which I could possibly engineer this. Gradually, and over a period of several weeks, an idea began to emerge. As I mentioned earlier, I had seen Helen in only her underwear several times (probably quite a lot more than several actually), and on occasion, even in just a towel, and there had been a couple of evenings when the nights were drawing in that we were in the lounge in bath robes. I had no way of knowing what she may have been wearing underneath, but putting all this together, what was influencing my thinking was that Helen didn’t seem unduly modest or too worried about being seen in very little. Maybe what I needed to do was provide a little openness of my own and gently encourage her to be even less modest.
This is not as easy as it sounds, and I was going to have to be subtle. After a couple of weeks thinking about my approach, I started by just being a bit more casual in my own behaviour. I would still wear panties under my bath robe or long tee shirts that I sometimes wore before bed, but I wouldn’t be quite so discreet. I would sit or relax in one of the chairs or on the settee but just inadvertently let my legs drift open a little, or be less in a hurry to adjust or close my bath robe up when I moved around over the course of the evening. I tried walking the short distance between the bathroom and my room with the towel very loose round me, so that in the event of bumping into Helen it might slip down, but the opportunity never presented itself. I did go down into the kitchen once or twice in just my Sloggies to iron a tee shirt which I was then going to wear straight on top (like I said, I rarely wore a bra) and this did seem to provoke a degree of interest – nothing overt, but apart from not commenting about my near nakedness, I did notice that Helen kept us in conversation a bit longer than usual. However, this was going to have to be a long build-up.
I practically had to dare myself to do it, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, so one night when we had agreed to watch a film on Sky, I wore my bath robe with nothing underneath. It’s not so easy to manoeuvre yourself into a position where you can discreetly show someone your bits without making it obvious, but there were a couple of times when I was able to adjust my position so that a glance from the right angle would partially reveal my cunt and I sensed a furtive glance or two. I kept this up for several weeks, carefully becoming more daring, but short of blatant exposure.
I was sure my strategy was beginning to work. I started to see Helen in the bathroom in only her pants (and they were definitely pants and not panties) as she was cleaning her teeth and with the door ajar. Was it my imagination or was she becoming less inhibited? My next big moment occurred one Saturday morning when it was my turn to do the washing. I thought Helen had gone to work, but as I was sorting the clothes into groups for the washing machine, she appeared in the kitchen. I had several sets of underwear in my hand which I was putting into the washing machine. I separated a pair of her pants from my panties and I think I said something like ‘these are a bit on the big side. I was sort of grinning when I said it, and had a couple of pairs of my own in my other hand and held them out a bit by way of a comparison. Her reply when it came remains etched in my memory. She said ‘well they’ve got a lot to keep in’ and I said – ‘rubbish – you’re in great shape’. Just as I thought I had created an awkward moment, she replied ‘I’m not talking about my tummy’. This was it! This could surely only refer to one other thing – after all, what else do you keep in your pants? I just had to find a way to get to see what Sam’s Mum had. For probably a whole week when I was lying in bed and either fingering or toying myself that line kept repeating itself; I could practically hear her saying it each time.
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