In the Hot Tub with Camille

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I only wanted to have a fun day of shopping and doing other girly things that day. I needed a pick me up big time. I had no idea I’d end up having my first of what would be several lesbian experiences with one of my best friends.

Camille and I went out shopping for a large portion of the day. I had been depressed for quite a while—my ex-fiancé had been harassing me, calling and e-mailing me, insulting me, wanting to upset me. Camille moved in with me for a few days because he was making violent threats. She was a breath of fresh air during the weeks she stayed with me. It was fun having a roommate again—the past few days had reminded me of my college days with former roommates Kate and gay friend Jonathan. Anyway, we came back home hours later. I was tired, but happy with all of our purchases. The carrier bags were full of stuff we didn’t really need—dresses, jeans, shoes, lingerie, makeup, perfume, etc.—but having gone out shopping and buying frozen yogurt at the food court had been fun and quite therapeutic.

Camille suggested making cocktails, ordering pizza and settling down for a night of chick flicks. I was putting my purchases away when I heard the shake of the blender crushing the ice for the cocktails. C stepped into my bedroom and placed a strawberry daiquiri into my hands as she said in her broken, French-accented English, “Boy, I could use a nice, relaxing bath!”

I took a sip of the daiquiri. Delicious. Then I suggested skipping the pizza and the tube for now and taking a dip in the Jacuzzi instead. Camille agreed.

We went to the hot tub room, which had been built in the garage. The garage was enormous and there was plenty of space leftover for my car. The house had come equipped with the Jacuzzi. I got a great deal for that house. The couple who owned the place were moving to Australia and were desperate to make a sale. I was indeed lucky to get such a fine house with a luxurious Jacuzzi for such a low price.

Anyway, I went to the hot tub room. I set my daiquiri down to turn on the tub and waited as it filled up. Camille was way naked and ready by the time the tub was full. I hadn’t removed one single item of clothing when C, cocktail in hand, stepped down into the warm, bubbling waters.

The garage was always cold and the air felt chilly on my body. My nipples hardened as I took my clothes off. I stepped into the warm water where Camille already waited. The feel of the water warming my skin felt wonderful as I settled onto the stone seat and set my drink on the deck.

Camille sighed as she reclined. The chocolate-eyed blonde has a shapely figure that is curvy in all the right places. She also has the most enormous store-bought breasts. Camille isn’t afraid of admitting that her boobs are fake. Ataşehir escort bayan She actually takes pride of that fact—calling them “top-quality saline, none of that silicone crap.” I remembered thinking that she had beautiful mauve-colored nipples; the kind men would burn holes on them from staring. She is the opposite of me—she is blonde and I’m brunette. She is tall and curvy and I’m petite and thin.

Anyway, we relaxed against the pillowed edge of the whirlpool and took long sips of our martinis.

We joked about how great the invention of jet streams were and how good the pressure of them felt against our clits. Having said that, I positioned myself so that my legs were slightly parted and one of the sprays was directly on my clit. “Oh fuck yes! Right there,” I said playfully.

Camille laughed when I mock moaned and wiggled my hips underneath the water. She shifted in her seat until she was sitting next to me, our bodies touching from our shoulders to our thighs. She too began to moan. I then realized that we were tipsy. How much liquor did she mix into those daiquiris?

I moved so that the spray hit me higher on my clit, a warm feeling slid through me as I grew hornier by the second. Then Camille turned to me and said, “Have you ever been curious about being with another woman?”

A slow heat traveled through me that had nothing to do with the daiquiri, the warm Jacuzzi waters or the stimulation of the jet stream on my clit. I was also freaked out. Ick! What did I expect having a private hot tub party with my self-proclaimed bisexual friend? I knew I was straight—that had never been a doubt—but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t indeed curious. Camille and I had been two parts of a threesome once (my ex-fiancé had been the third party), but we didn’t do much to each other. Well . . . she kissed me and caressed my breasts and ate my pussy while Zach fucked her from behind, but that was about it. I never touched her breasts or any other part of her beautiful anatomy. I held my breath as Camille’s palm cupped my breasts for the second sexual occasion of our two-year-long friendship. I couldn’t help feeling aroused. The sensual combination of my legs spread and the jet stream stimulating my pussy, and the softness of Cammie’s hand, was completely erotic.

A moan escaped from my lips as Cammie continued to palm my breasts and ran her long fingernails over one nipple. “You can think of a man doing this if it makes you more comfortable,” I remember her telling me, her breath warm as her mouth neared my nipple. “Who are you thinking about now?”

To be honest, I was thinking of no one other than the gorgeous blonde touching my breasts and making me more excited than I cared to admit.

I Escort Ümraniye widened my thighs to the jet stream as Cammie flicked her tongue over my nipple, and I purred and arched my back so that I was fully in Camille’s mouth. My breasts aren’t quite as large as Camille’s, but they’re more than a handful—round with brown crests. The most attractive part of my breasts is how elongated my nipples become when they’re hard. Camille remarked on how lovely they felt in her mouth and that made me purr in sheer pleasure. Her lips were so soft and her tongue felt fantastic swirling and licking. I closed my eyes and moaned and gasped with pleasure as Cammie rose up on her knees and moved her mouth to my other breast. I gripped the edge of the stone seat as the jet stream and Camille’s mouth on my nipple brought me on the brink of an orgasm. Cammie slid her fingers between my thighs and stroked my clit. I gasped, my voice breathless and at least two octaves higher than normal as I moaned loudly.

Then Camille did something that had made me uncomfortable during the threesome but now felt very nice—she kissed me, her mouth opened mine, her tongue slipped into my mouth caressingly as her touch of my clit grew stronger.

As this was happening, I couldn’t help but think that any hot-blooded man would have loved to be a fly on the wall that night. Two very attractive women getting it on in a hot tub. Any man would have bottled those scenes up for a future masturbating aid.

We disengaged from our kiss and Cammie grinned as she lowered her face to suck on a nipple again—harder and with more carnal edge this time, no longer concerned over whether or not I’d enjoy it since I so obviously was. Her fingers worked on my clit with more urgency as well.

I pushed her away from my breasts and stared at her for a moment. She really was beautiful. Her large breasts beckoned me to touch them. During that moment I wanted nothing more than to feel her up and wondered why I hadn’t touched her during the threesome. So I reached up for Camille’s breasts. Round and soft in my hands, I squeezed and caressed as Cammie moaned and massaged my breasts too. I twirled her nipples, hard and erect between my fingers, following the urge to sit up slightly and rake my tongue over one beadlike crest.

Then I did something I thought I’d never do. I lowered my head and sucked one of her hard nipples into my mouth. It was truly incredible. Her nipple felt wonderful on my tongue, so innately sweet and feminine. Camille purred and I did it again, this time to her other breast. It was a very sensuous experience.

The excitement of turning Cammie on with my ministrations and her continuous fumbling of my clit were too much to take. The orgasm slammed Bostancı escort into me, so fierce my body quaked and a scream tore at my lips from the acute and sheer pleasure. Cammie continued stroking my clit until the last contractions settled inside me.

I felt so weakened from the orgasm that my entire body settled inside the tub. I had to stop myself from sinking my head into the waters. Camille smiled and kissed me passionately and asked if I was all right. I smiled at her uncertainly. I was fine, but felt awkward. I looked away from her. I knew what I had to do, for it was only fair, but I couldn’t bring myself to pleasure her in return. I had never been with a woman and it would have felt too strange to even try.

As if reading my mind, she smiled kindly at me and said, “It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to do anything just because I did. I wanted to pleasure you . . .” She went on to explain that she knew I felt down and depressed due to my breakup with Zach and had wanted me to feel better. Alas, I felt like a selfish and rotten bitch for not doing what was right. I knew she had gotten in the mood. And she showed just how worked up she was when set herself against the jet spray, moaning something fierce. I sipped my martini and just lay there with my eyes closed.

For a few weeks, Camille and I engaged in a relationship of sorts. We became intimate, had done the deed for a few nights. But the relationship was one-sided. She pleasured me in all ways possible, was tender and loving to me, had no qualms or inhibitions when it came time to pleasure me. I wish I had been the same with her. Yes, eventually I did pleasure her with my fingers and sex toys and sucked on her lovely nipples, but I never once went down on her (though she constantly went down on me) or made her come the way she’d made me come again and again.

Was I repressing myself? Yes. I have always considered myself a sexually uninhibited woman, but a same-sex encounter was a whole new territory for me. It was just too much and too soon for me to handle. And so, I called our “relationship” off, telling her it was not fair that I got the better end of the stick. She told me she did not care, that she enjoyed being with me and that she understood that certain things made me uncomfortable. I still ended things with her. The bottom line was that I was not a lesbian. Yes, I was curious and yes I enjoyed her ministrations, but that does not a lesbian make.

She moved out a few days later. We are still friends, great friends, and I have that marked down as a great, experimental experience for me and I am grateful it was with someone as wonderful and loyal a friend as Camille. She is now married to a wonderful young doctor from London. And I am now involved with a gorgeous, very sexual man. I told him about this experience and he, of course, was all ears. He began to masturbate as I told the story and answered all of his questions—lots of questions, down to every detail. “If I’d been a fly on that wall,” he remarked.

Sigh. If only.

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