I have multiple kinds of orgasms. Multiple orgasms as well, but that’s not really what I am talking about. I am talking about different types of orgasms…and not just like, g-spot or clitoral or vaginal or anal. I mean, the way they happen, in my body, in my head, and the way they feel, in my body, in my head.
I got to thinking about this this morning, when I was supposed to be hopping out of bed to get ready to go to the gym before work (my new trying-to-make-it-a-routine routine) and instead I found myself with A’s cock deep inside me while I masturbated myself to orgasm. Oh, it’s not masturbation when he’s participating? I beg to differ. This was about me coming, me having an orgasm, and his penis in my vagina was just, well, a tool, a living toy. A lovely living toy, and the feel of him in there, my cunt full of him, his almost-gentle thrusts, was a definite help…but in the end my orgasm came from my mind, from the fantasy I was partaking in, not directly from the sex itself. Lucky for me, he enjoys that as well as anything else.
See, sometimes it’s like that. Sometimes, even though he is there, he is taking part, my mind is somewhere else, living out some bizarre or mundane fantasy. I am so wrapped up in it, in the movie I am playing in my head (and this time, yes, it was bizarre, involving numerous anonymous hands holding me down while some strange man fucked me from behind, all as part of an “exhibit” for the dozens of people watching, in doctor’s coats, no less) that what A is doing fades to merely an addendum. I don’t make much noise, even when I come, so deep in my head am I. And it is a quiet, contained kind of orgasm, not the screamers, the rolling gut-wrenching all-body orgasms I have at other times. Nice, is how I would describe it. Pleasant.
Then there are the ones where I am totally engaged in what he is doing, when I am riding on the tail of his excitement, following him up as his orgasm builds, as he strains and pushes himself to the peak and over. Oftentimes these orgasms happen simultaneously with his (and once with W), as what I am experiencing is so closely tied to his excitement that it is the act of him finally climaxing that tips me over as well. This is almost always during “regular” intercourse, and even more often missionary style, when it is his body rocking into mine, the long, deep thrusts that feel like he is pushing into the center of my being, and I can feel every shudder, every quiver of his body as though it was my own. And the orgasm itself is like that too, part his and part mine, and deep, deep inside.
Sometimes it is as though the orgasm is something that he must coax out, that I have to call forth gently, bringing it slowly, carefully to the surface until it finally spills over in waves that wash over me again and again. This usually happens when A is sucking on my clit, sucking and lapping on me almost delicately, stroking me with his tongue towards the crest of my climax. It’s a shy thing, this climax, and I have to call her gently, lest she be frightened away. The funny thing about this one is that when she has been called out completely, and when she is ready to spill forth, she can suddenly turn feral and dangerous, and I climax ferociously, howling, clutching and squeezing and pulling him into me as though to devour him, to drown him in my cunt, to suffocate him.
Sometimes my orgasms are down and dirty. Maintenance orgasms, I call them, the ones I give myself to sleep, or de-stress, or soothe anxiety or to relieve boredom. They are quick, and hard, and usually come from Baldy, my Hitachi. They don’t involve any part of me except my clit, not even my brain, and usually take less than five minutes, sometimes as quick as 30 seconds. They are also satisfying for about that long. But when I need an orgasm without all the muss and fuss, they do the trick, occasionally wringing a shout or a sharp grunt out of me with their force.
Strangely enough, that same toy can also be the catalyst for some of the strongest, longest-lasting orgasms, when A uses it on me, or lets me use it while he fingers, strokes or licks me. I have had full-body orgasms that lasted 10 or 15 minutes and left me trembling and almost in tears, and then turned around and come again vaginally, twice as hard, when he has fucked me afterward. These are preceded and accompanied by lots of noise, whimpers, sometimes words even, and cries, shouts, gasps and moans during. We laugh and hug afterwards, and sometimes have to pull his hand or my panties out of my mouth that he has stuffed there to quiet me.
Then there are the ones that are ripped out of me, pulled out of my protesting body like an evisceration, as though he is gripping intangible pieces of me from deep inside and pulling them out through my vagina, and the only thing I can do is to come, no matter if I want to or not. And sometimes, believe it or not, I don’t want to. These, of course, are orgasms from W.
It sounds weird, even to me, who lives it, not to want to come. But sometimes, especially when he is doing something particularly heinous, and part of my mind is saying this is not fun, not pleasurable, I shouldn’t get any pleasure from it, or I feel beaten and abused and used and small and hurt and my mind is screaming ‘why does he like this??–and more importantly, why do I??–‘ and then he reaches down between my legs and it is not a request, it is a demand that I come…yes, there is part of me that resists it with every thing that I am, because to come then feels like the ultimate surrender, to him, to myself, and I fight it. And yet, and still, I come. In spite of everything, maybe because of everything, I come. I can’t help myself, I can’t stop myself. And in that moment, my orgasm is a snarling thing, a thing that is being used against me…until, finally, spent and overcome, I give in. I surrender, I submit, to it and to him. And the orgasm is a beautiful, sweet release, an acknowledgment of that core need in myself, to be there, in that moment, to be overtaken, to surrender.
And as for my workout this morning? Yep, I got there. Orgasm and all.
