PART II: Naughty Night Noises Near Nidong
[Story continues from Chapter 1, Part I. Here's where the down and dirty begins! - FGs]
I want to tell you a story
About a little cutie
She's ass-slappin' pretty
. . . She looks good enough to eat me
-- Jeff Buckley, "Your Flesh is So Nice"
Now one of those two girls in my room during that sticky hot night in the Jingdezhen hotel was in a deep and innocent sleep, and one of them was enjoying herself with a passion.
Since I was sleeping in the third single bed, the one nearest the door, I couldn't judge the distance of either sound. There was that rustling of the sheets and slight creak to the bedsprings, but cutting through that, the sound of wet slurps and aroused breathing filled the room. It was unmistakable, and loud enough to wake me.
Picturing either girl doing that in the dark had me enthralled, but I just had to figure out which was dirty enough to stick her fingers in her pussy so brazenly in a room with two friends.
Was it Ginny, who was in the bed next to the window? She'd always said she was a heavy sleeper--but was she the one giving such vigorous attention to the wet snatch I heard squelching away in the darkness? I had my suspicions about Mimi, too, the hot little slice of China girl between us. She was sort of solitary since she lived at home rather than the dorms--more the diddling type, perhaps?
I couldn't believe my luck, but also couldn't figure out how to exploit the situation without causing a messy scene with the mystery masturbator, who might not be open to getting a little help from her friends.
I carefully shifted from my left side to my back, where I could get a little better idea of who was at it. I was completely unable to keep from groping myself in the process, naturally, and hoped the noise from the fingerfucker would cover up my own rustlings. That night was all about wetness--between the drip, drip, drip at the sliding glass door as the rain seemed to slow up, the sloshing in my diddler's snatch, and the precum already leaking from my seriously engorged tool.
I held it in what I call my kung fu grip, a technique honed over years of jerking with abandon - thumb and forefinger of my left hand pinching the base of my cock, trapping the flow of blood and hardening me up almost instantly, and my unoccupied fingers toying with my balls and giving them an occasional hard squeeze; my right hand is always closed tightly around the shaft just beneath the sensitive rim of the head, giving it that extra flaring throb I need to get off. Heavenly when there's a little extra stimulation in the room!
My eyes were adjusted to the dark, but the curtains were closed and there were no lights on in the room save the cherry-red clock numbers - not very helpful for spotting rapid hand action in those conditions. The noises seemed to pick up, and I thought I heard the faintest vocalizations--a sort of soft, repeating grunt, building up to the frenziedly heated breaths of a girl who's an expert at getting herself off. She was getting close to oh-gashum, as Mimi called it.
I positioned myself more to the right, still pumping my cock at full thrust. But my elbow caused a thumping sound as it jammed against the mattress, and instantly the erotic rhythms coming from my girl stopped.
I quit moving as soon as I sensed the change, but it was a beat too slow. Whoever it was, she was obviously waiting there in the dark, holding her breath, eyes wide open and unblinking, hand stayed over her cunt, shielding it, warming it, keeping it moist. Maybe she was keeping it hungry, too, making an occasional featherlight stroke along the oily slit with her ring finger--all she needed, compared with my barbaric fist bearing down tightly around my cock, the throb of my pulse there against my palm, echoed in my pounding temples.
My breath had just begun to come faster before she hit the brakes, and I struggled to control my noisy heaves now, mouth open, sweat collecting on my pillow. It lasted for several minutes like that--a kind of sexual staring contest there in the dark.
Of course, I could have ended the tension to avoid morning awkwardness. I could have faked it by imitating the long, full breaths of a deep sleep and waited till she tucked back into herself: chances were she would just pick right up where her fingerbang left off once she was assured I was asleep again, and I was perfectly happy jerking off to my mystery girl's beat in the still of that Jingdezhen night. But the truth was I wanted, much, much more. I was going to exploit this somehow. I was getting sex tonight, and not from my hand.
I made my move, passive as it was: I let her know I was awake and enjoying her. I rolled onto my back, threw back the covers, peeled off my shorts and t-shirt, and started jerking off again, this time with no attempt to hide the sounds of sausage-slapping. It seemed like an eternity before I heard anything above my own sounds, the heavy breathing of the sleeper, and the drip-drops on the balcony as the storm dissipated.
But then there it was.
She went right back to working that obviously gushing-wet cunt of hers in concert with my own music. I drew in my breath sharply, with a little quaver as I neared climax. We were getting each other off with just our ears and imaginations there in the pitch.
Soon her breath came more quickly again, and then a quite loud girl-grunt--something I'd heard in some of the Japanese porn that was popular here, high-pitched, almost that of a little girl. That HAD to be Mimi! I had to touch her, embrace her, see through what we'd started. This girl wanted a fucking.
But before I could even think of rocking out of my bed and into hers, I hear movement across the room--and the girl was bending over me, her long, straight hair undone and tickling my face. I still couldn't see a thing, which heightened all my other senses. Her face brushed along mine, her petal-soft skin smelling of lavender and sweat: Mimi's scent. I caught her lips in our first illicit kiss, wrapping my arms around her middle, pulling her over me.
She awkwardly legged up onto my bed and stretched out along the length of my body, running her hands down my strong arms until I took her hands in mine and brought them back onto those killer hips, circling around to that perfectly smooth, firm ass. Her entire body was tense, absolutely trembling with anticipation, fear, or desire--it was hard to tell, but was it ever exciting.
I always think of first kisses as learning a new language. We kept missing each other's cues, crashing noses; one kisser had the mouth open, the other mouth closed, and then the reverse, until we finally found our place. Her kisses were softening against my lips as we explored those different combinations that all new lovers must--loud smacks, hard urgent pecks, and eventually those gorgeous, soft open-mouthed kisses that melt like the darkest chocolate. Her whole body was beginning to melt a little, relaxing, showing the release after the buildup over the past weeks (especially the nearly unbearable tension of that day).
I relished the feel of those pert little breasts crushed against me, her prominent nipples like two lovely little gumdrops poking through her sheer top. She was in a baby tee and pajama shorts, and my hands were roaming all over her, under her shirt to feel the perfect flare of her hips and lithe leanness of her back, traveling down into her shorts to that incredible bubble butt.
Soon her shorts were tossed aside, with the top to follow. She settled right back onto me, nuzzling my chest hair, kissing my nipples, the base of my throat, all over my cheeks--pouring out adoration. I could smell the remains of her finger session big as life, and I craved a sniff of that snatch, but as she sighed and pressed her mouth to mine and dug in her nose and breathed in my scent in that most passionate sort of kiss, I decided just to take it as slowly as she wanted. She seemed to be mapping out my body, its smells, its textures, tastes, and sensitivities, with hers.
I did a little of my own mapping by tracing a wet trail with my tongue over the top of her chin and down, down, down the hollow at the base of her neck and along the gorgeously smooth and soft skin at the slight cleavage between her breasts, breaking off into a closing spiral at her right breast and nipple, a quick pinch with my lips, and then another loopy line described across to her left side with similar treatment there. Her breath was coming faster, loving it, running her fingers through the thatch of reddish hair on my chest, her other hand clasping my head to her breast, clutching my hair. It was such a tender embrace, all in the darkness of the room; I remember wishing I had a picture of it.
