Stroking Annabelle

The year is 1492. Christopher Columbus is about to discover America. Meanwhile I am travelling back from Melbourne with my then girlfriend, Annabelle. We are in the back of a van, under some blankets to “keep us warm” even though it is a muggy night.

Such an obvious set-up for illicit sex – I was sure at the time that the people in the front of the van knew just what we were up to, but I spoke to several of them about it subsequently (all guys) and they said they, honestly, had no idea.

Annbelle’s vagina was modestly hairy, and the hair was soft. Normally, the hair was quickly moved to one in my haste to find the skin around her clit and give her a good time with fingers or tongue.

But it’s a long way down that highway, and I didn’t want to be too obvious. So on this night, I moved my hand just inside her underwear, nestled a finger in amongst the folds of hair that dovetailed around the top of her labia, and gently moved it from side to side, like I was absent-mindedly stroking the neck of a cat.

I did this for about ten minutes, to no visible or audible effect. She just lay there in my arms with her head on my chest. After that time, I made to remove the finger, thinking it might be annoying her, because normally she liked to come fast, and hard.

But as I pulled it away, she looked up at me with a frown, and then gently guided my hand back down to its previous position.

Encouraged, I kept up my gentle stroking of the place just above her clitoris for another twenty minutes or so, still wondering if this subtle motion was having any effect, until I became aware that she was trembling and her breathing had gotten faster. She was very quiet, and lay still in my arms with her hands around my waist.

In another five minutes she was shaking, and as she slowly came, I heard the softest of moans escape her lips.

Often times, she was a “once a night” girl. Sometimes she’d come more than that, but only when we were fucking. So again it surprised me when my attempts to remove my hand were met with gentle resistance. The hand was to stay where it was, thank you.

So I continued gently stroking her, right at the top of her vagina, and feeling her tremble, then shake, in my arms. Over and again.

Eventually, after more than an hour of this, my finger began to get wet. Up to that moment, I had felt only damp hair and the occasional touch of her outer labia. But now things had reached a critical point. The moisture had nowhere else to go.

Intrigued, I moved my finger further down to explore the wonderful mess we had made of her pussy over the last few hours.

And that’s when she moved my hand away. The whole thing was far too sensitive to be touched directly.

So I kept on stroking her, and she smiled up at me briefly and the closed her eyes.

Finally, our friends dropped us at our door, and I noticed Annabelle kept the blanket wrapped round her when we went inside, leaving me to deal with the luggage. She barely said goodbye to the friends that had given us a lift.

Inside, she removed the blanket. Her sundress looked like she had wet herself.

‘Thanks’ was all she said.

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