The Gräfenberg Spot

Or, how Eden discovered her g-spot.

Author's note: I included the diagram because there is much debate in the scientific community about the g-spot and it's existence. But those of us who've gotten a woman off from her g-spot or can have g-spot orgasms know better.

~~~

Since Aimee began raving to me about her g-spot orgasms several years ago, I started to get curious what that would be like. You see, my g-spot, I am convinced, is nomadic. It was long debated among partners of mine whether or not I actually had one. After all, I do not cum from intercourse, and I rarely moan. In short, I did not believe I had a g-spot. As far as I was concerned, it was a club that I was excluded from.

Then, about a year ago, I got very into the idea of finding my g-spot, only I had no idea how to do that. I bought a hitachi, and an extension for it. The extension now collects dust in my dresser drawer, the only thing it succeeded in doing was make me have to pee really really badly. I gave up on it, and went on to have monumental clitoral orgasms. I had found my niche. Or so it seemed.

The first time I met Jefferson, he went to find my g-spot. And I ultimately had to pee. My body simply was not having anything to do with it, it hurt and I found the pressure on my bladder irritating. This developed into a pattern, someone would finger me, and I would ultimately end up in the bathroom trying to ease my tightened muscles enough to relieve myself. Eventually, I gave up on trying to find my g-spot. I had found it in plenty of women, I knew what to look for, I just didn't think I had it in myself.

Then something happened, Jefferson and I were fucking one afternoon, and I had shifted my hips so that they were tilted upwards, and I felt something, something that made me moooaan. I gasped for air, and my face flushed, but after a few thrusts, something shifted, and it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Among our sexual explorations of one another, one such afternoon resulted in the discovery that we could get at my g-spot through my ass. Jefferson went down on me while fingering my ass; I roared like a lioness when I came.

We were slowly unfolding the petals of this most elusive of flowers.

A while later, the morning of a sleep over, he slipped his fingers into my folds, and I'll be damned if I didn't gasp, my face flushed and my hair felt electric. It was like my g-spot had grown overnight, like undeveloped real estate that suddenly had immense value. In that moment my snatch was the anatomical equivalent of the Chrysler Building. It didn't last for long, it was too much for me. But damn, it was amazing.

I vented my frustrations to Aimee, who said it was okay, these things take time to wear down, after all, Rome was not built in a day. And the first orgasm of one kind or another is always hard the first time when someone else is doing it. Not that I've had a g-spot orgasm.

Then an amazing thing happened. I discovered that if I curled myself into almost fetal position so that my back was curved forward and my chin was against my chest, and I lifted my pelvis it gave me the best access to my g-spot I had ever had. Jefferson began to fuck me in earnest at my moans. I wanted to open my eyes, to look at him like I like to sometimes, but my eyes were locked shut. My cunt was engulfed in the most incredible fire, I would have let it consume me in an instant. I did not want this to stop. Ever.

My back began to burn, but I didn't care, I wanted this so badly, and I had finally found what I had been looking for. We fucked like this for I don't how long, and then pain shot up my shoulder and I had to stop, to relax my muscles and ease the nerve in my shoulder that gives me grief sometimes.

I laid back against the pillows, gasping for breath and gazing into his blue eyes.

"Did you almost cum?" He asked, gazing down at me as he gently fucked me.

"Yeah, I almost did," I said, a small smile dancing on my lips.

Bagpipes

I don't normally watch porn, I find it depressing. I would rather be having sex then watching other people. But occasionally my desire for something different, that and the lack of warm available bodies, drives me to plunk something X-rated in my DVD player every so often.

One of these so oftens happened last week, stressed out from school, I put my choice of pornographic poison into the player and began to do my thing. Several orgasms later I came up for air, and in my daze I started to listening to the music, something I never do when it comes to porn, and I heard the strangest thing: Bagpipes.

The soundtrack was bagpipe music. I guess that's what I get for spending $4 on porn, but still, bagpipes?

I turned it off. After that I am so over porn. Warm available bodies are much more interesting anyway.

Missing in action

Sorry I haven't been posting; I've been busy with school and I've been sick, but I'll be heating up with the smut soon enough! Just bear with me a little bit longer.

Boot scene

We had plotted a boot scene for saturday night. It had been a while since we'd done one, and were eager for the experience. Jefferson and I settled into a quiet corner, and began making out. He removed my bra, and my breasts hung free and loose in the cool air of the dungeon. He fondled my them and toyed with my nipples. I got onto my knees and he caressed my face, quieting my racing mind. I nuzzled his crotch through his jeans, and after a few moments, he pulled it out, and I went down on him, frenzied by the smell of boy and the heat of his cock against my tongue. I slid down onto the hard floor and removed one of his shoes and sock. I breathed in the smell of his foot, the texture of his sole against my cheek causing a jolt of pleasure between my thighs.

I licked his foot, cleaning off the accumulated sweat from the day. He reached under the chair he was sitting in, where I was lying and unbuttoned my pants. He slid off my jeans and reached his hand under my pink panties and fingered me. I arched up against him, moaning around his big toe. I removed his other shoe and sock, careful not to let his foot touch the dirty floor. He pulled at one of my breasts with his foot, causing me to moan. I was well into hog heaven. He wrapped his feet around my face, pressing down, and I gasped inwardly. I did not want this to stop.

Finally I pulled back and began to put his socks on his feet, I put on the first boot and began lacing it up, I gazed up at Jefferson, and he gazed back down at me, periodically brushing his hand against my cheek. I would stop occasionally, pressing my lips against the cool leather, allowing my tongue to momentarily wash over the boot. By the time I finished the first one, my hands were shaking.

I began on the second boot, putting his foot in and lacing it up, I gazed up at him as my hands worked, stopping periodically to check my work, and make sure everything was properly lined up. When the second boot was laced, I leaned down, kissing and licking the side of his boot, the smell of leather was intoxicating, the bitter taste was like a drug to me. When I got to the top of the boot, I began pulling his pant leg down with my teeth, it didn't occur to me to use my hands. We kissed and then he said something to me, I'm not sure what, but I responded with "Why don't you get down here and make me?"

He pushed me back onto the ground, straddling my chest, and he spat on my face. I tried to wipe it off, but he cuffed me on the cheek, arresting the progress of my hand. I tried to catch him off guard by whacking him in the head, but he caught my ankle, licked his thumb, and stuck it up my ass.

He looked up. "The cross is free," he said. "You wanna use it?" I asked. He nodded, and we went over to it. He tied me to the cross and starting flogging me, I kept saying 'ow' over and over until I started to sound like a dying cat. Periodically I would laugh, at one point I started singing 'sexy back', and that's when we knew it was just over. He tried to put my panties in my mouth without success just to shut me up. The scene petered out not long after, but damn, it was nice. I love me a good boot scene.

The Why

A friend recently said something to me in regards to playing; why do it? This got me thinking about why I play, or why anyone plays, for that matter. Does it go beyond sex? Is this how some people de-stress, or reach greater states of conciousness? Certainly it's been proven that when we get hurt, the brain releases endorphins which dull the pain, and endorphins resemble opiates in their chemical structure, that certainly helps get rid of stress. We hear about things like bottom space, top space, little space, puppy and pony space, the list goes on and on. While we may not achieve enlightenment in these head spaces, we are certainly percieving the world around us very differently than we normally would.

Is SM an inherently sexual act? Yes and no. Certainly there are people who get turned on by giving and receiving pain, goodness knows it makes me wetter than the ocean, but do I always want to have sex when I play? No, most of the time I just want to lie there after a scene and be talked too; be told that I'm a pretty girl and did a very good job in taking what I was told to. Of course there are people who love to have sex after they play, and that is just awesome too. Sometimes, I want to fuck, I love getting fucked after a nice boot scene or a foot scene, I can't get enough. But in most cases, like after being flogged or single tailed, in a scene where I am actually getting hurt for an extended period of time, I don't want to fuck, it just becomes too much for me to handle.

I know many people who have play partners where the play is perfectly fun and hot without being sexual. One of my play pals, when he and I get together to hash it out, he's not interested in my breasts or my cooch, it's all about the pain, and I laugh my ass off as we wrestle on the floor. He and I do not have a sexual component to our relationship.

Certainly a distinction has been made between play and sex. While I am a fairly easy girl to get into bed, many people would have a hell of a time trying to get me onto some play table in a dungeon. I'm slutty, not stupid.

For me there is certainly the aspect that it is sexual, I am known for stubbing my toe or whacking my elbow by accident and getting turned on. I enjoy pain. But I also play with the intensity that I do to prove to myself that I can, and I push myself to be able to take more. That I can handle a certain intensity of pain without freaking out or trying to back out of the scene is important to me. I am always pushing myself to be a better person than I am, in scene and out. I would love to be mass of scars, each set telling a different story, to know in my mind that I did those things and I did them well, with grace and dignity, or at the very least with a sense of humor and laughter.

Of course, I see myself looking over my scars when I am in my 70s or 80s when I think about this. Gazing at my wrinkled body in a mirror, remembering the entire journey of my life up til then. But today I am a young woman with tight skin who still has a few years left on her odeometer, and as much as I hate to admit it, I am vain, and I worry that having a mass of scars on my back will make people turn away from me; view me as less desirable because of it. I tend to have a higher rate of infection than most people and I have to accept the fact that there is a large chance I won't heal as cleanly.

So why do it if I am so concerned about becoming less attractive? The only answer I can give is that I won't be less attractive. I will still have a body that looks like it was pulled from a painting, but even more importantly I will still be the same person inside. Our desires may shape who we are to a certain degree, but at the end of the day, every one is just a regular human being like everyone else. So I guess it doesn't really matter why we do what we do, we enjoy it, for whatever reason, we like to do it, otherwise we wouldn't bother doing it at all.

Don't you love rambling discourses that eventually lead you up to a point that should have taken you two minutes to get to in the first place?

Untitled

Friday night after Jefferson's g and p-spot class at Floating World, we met up with Jocasta and Zelda. They wanted to suspend me and one of the people we were with. Jefferson copied Jocasta's moves with the rope, he listened to their guiding words, and I drifted in and out of awareness. People came over and said hi, I smiled, kissing a friend on the cheek. Then I began to drift into space, meditating on what was to come. I had never been suspended before, and time seemed to slow down and then stop as the rope was wound around my naked limbs and torso.

Zelda and Jocasta checked his work throughout the construction of the harness. When it was completed I was lead over to one of the smaller suspension frames, I slipped in and out of space, aware of some things and not aware of others. Finally after standing on one leg for an indeterminate period of time, I was hoisted off the ground, and I started laughing.

It was amazing, like flying. Time ceased to flow. I laid there, being gently pushed back and forth by someone, I don't remember who. After that, I drifted like a man lost at sea, only far more comforting. Someone asked me if I wanted my photo taken, I vaguely remember nodding. I felt at peace, I wasn't worried about anything. I am usually loud when I play, but after my initial laughter, I was silent. Someone hit me, but as far as I know, after a few strikes, they stopped, or maybe I just stopped being aware of it. Jefferson tells me that he touched and caressed me, but I don't remember that either. I opened and closed my eyes. It didn't matter though, I wasn't seeing what everyone else saw, the ceiling of some warehouse, I saw something else that I don't know how to describe. I swear, I came close to a heaven that I could believe in while I hung there. And when I closed my eyes for the last time in that harness, I was somewhere else.

I had transcended.