Mrs X has been helping run a women only Sensual Self-Touch workshop. The room was a sanctuary of raw, feminine energy. Twenty women, draped in silk kimonos, their skin flushed with anticipation, moved through the glowing space. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine incense, mingling with the sweet tang of fruits and candies they popped into their mouths. Pink and warm yellow lights bathed the room, casting soft shadows over the lush greenery that framed the edges. Spa-like music, a gentle hum of flutes and chimes, underscored the electric atmosphere. In the center, a circle of yoga mats faced inward, each one equipped with a mirror, a neatly folded towel, pillows, plush blankets, a bottle of lube, and a small jar of coconut oil, tools for the intimate exploration ahead.
Mrs. X stood at the heart of the circle, her voice a soothing guide as she welcomed the participants. “Ladies, this is your space to connect with your bodies, to feel every inch of your desire. Let go of shame. Let your sounds be free. Moan, gasp, scream if you need to. This is about you.” Her kimono hung loosely over her shoulders, revealing hints of her curves as she gestured to a detailed diagram of a vulva projected on a small screen. She traced the anatomy with a manicured finger, the labia majora, minora, the clitoral hood, the sensitive bud beneath. “We’ll explore this together, first with knowledge, then with touch. Take your time. Look at yourself. Feel yourself.”
The women settled onto their mats, some hesitant, others eager. Mirrors were tilted between parted thighs as they examined their own bodies, following Mrs. X’s instructions. “Spread your lips gently,” she directed, her tone steady and encouraging. “See the way your inner labia frame your opening? Notice the texture, the color. Every vulva is unique. Stroke around your clitoris, don’t press too hard yet. Tease it. Let the sensation build.” Soft gasps punctuated the air as fingertips explored slick folds, some using a dab of coconut oil to ease the glide. The room filled with the slick, wet sounds of self-discovery, punctuated by breathy moans and the occasional “Oh, fuck!” as someone found a particularly sensitive spot.
Mrs. X moved among them, offering gentle guidance. “Try circling your clit with two fingers,” she suggested to a woman whose breath hitched audibly. “Slow at first, then faster. Listen to what your body wants.” The woman nodded, her eyes fluttering shut as she followed the advice, a low whimper escaping her lips. Another participant, further along, arched her back against her pillow, her kimono slipping off her shoulders as she rubbed herself with more urgency. “Fuck, yes,” she groaned, her voice raw, sending a ripple of encouragement through the others. Screams of pleasure, sharp and unrestrained, mingled with softer sighs as the group surrendered to their own rhythms. The collective energy was palpable, a symphony of wet, slapping sounds and unrestrained vocalizations, moans, curses, gasps, echoing off the walls.
By the end of the session, the room was steeped in the heady, musky scent of arousal and release. The women, flushed and glowing, adjusted their kimonos and shared shy smiles, some still catching their breath as they tidied their mats. The mirrors reflected back faces softened by pleasure, and the air buzzed with a shared, secret intimacy.
Later, as the participants dispersed, Mr. X and I arrived at the studio. Mrs. X greeted us at the door, her silk kimono barely tied, her hair slightly tousled from the intensity of the workshop. Her eyes sparkled with a wicked glint as she led us inside. “You’re just in time to feel the aftermath,” she purred, gesturing to the empty room. The smell hit us immediately, an overpowering, intoxicating wave of wet pussy, raw and primal, clinging to every surface. The mats were still arranged in their circle, some towels rumpled, a faint sheen of coconut oil and lube lingering on the fabric. The pink and yellow lights still glowed, casting an erotic haze over the space.
Mrs. X stepped into the center of the circle, letting her kimono fall to the floor. Her body was bare, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the day’s exertions. She sank onto a mat, spreading her legs wide, her pussy already slick and swollen from the energy of the workshop. “Come closer,” she murmured, her fingers dipping between her folds, rubbing slow circles over her clit. “I’ve been aching to do this with you both watching.” Her other hand squeezed her breast, pinching her nipple hard as she sighed, her hips rocking into her touch. The wet sounds of her fingers sliding in and out of her cunt filled the room, mingling with the lingering scent of the day’s pleasures.
She looked at us, her gaze hungry. “Take your cocks out. I want to see you stroke yourselves for me.” We didn’t hesitate, unfastening our pants, our hands wrapping around our already hard shafts as we watched her fuck herself with her fingers. Her moans grew louder, her eyes locked on us. “Faster,” she gasped, her own pace quickening, her pussy dripping onto the mat beneath her. “I want your cum on me. Cover my tits, my cunt. Mark me.”
Her words pushed us over the edge. Mr. X grunted first, his hand working furiously as he stepped closer, shooting thick ropes of cum across her heaving breasts, the white streaks glistening against her skin. I followed seconds later, my load spilling over her spread thighs and the glistening lips of her pussy, mixing with her own juices as she shuddered through her own orgasm, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. “Fuck, yes!” she screamed, her fingers still buried deep inside as her body convulsed.
She lay there, panting, covered in our release, a satisfied smirk curling her lips as she rubbed the cum into her skin. “That’s exactly how this room should feel,” she whispered, her voice thick with lust. The air around us was heavy, saturated with the raw, animalistic scent of sex, a fitting end to the day’s exploration.
