“I had my first orgasm today,” she said to the policemen. “Not entirely first, I mean, but the first one caused entirely by someone else. I usually touch myself while the guy finger fucks me. Not this time. The simply touched me, and I twisted in his hands like a little worm. We had sex at first, he moved inside me, I got wet. He came pretty quickly and felt guilty, so he started touching me. His finger was burning right there on the right spot, and I could only twist and twist. Usually guys don’t know where to touch and how hard to push. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I need to be honest for the sake of justice.” The policemen shifted uncomfortably but professionally. “But this guy knew what to do. I repeated ‘yes, yes’ a few times because I knew it was coming. I didn’t believe it cause I’ve never come by a guy’s hand, but it burned my whole pussy, and the whole of me was electrified to ashes. It happened, I came and twisted and shouted, even though when I come on my own I am quiet like a fish. The whole electrifying epic was over in a few seconds—thank god, because it’s hard to withstand orgasms, I’m not kidding, just think about how it draws out your energy—and I lay with my face touching the guy’s face. I couldn’t smile and I couldn’t speak. He expected me to say something, but I couldn’t because I was still thinking: a guy made me come, I’m not so difficult, just maybe. He rubbed his nose against mine.”
“And you didn’t stop at the red light because?” the rounder one of the two policemen asked.
“I was thinking about that orgasm! Come on, gentlemen, you know what it’s like to give yourself an orgasm and what it is to have someone else give it to you. It’s a bit like tickling, unfortunately. You can’t really tickle yourself because you know when to expect the tickle. With the orgasm, you still get it and you are not exactly sure when you’ll get it, but you still control everything because you control both the movement of your fingers in circles on your clitoris as well as the strain of pleasure and the perverted pictures going around your head to turn you on. That’s why there must be a difference between masturbating and letting someone else do it for you.”
“So you were thinking about the sex you had with that man while you were driving? When you hit the trash bin?” the not-so-round policeman asked.
“Yes. Is that illegal?” Both policemen opened their mouths and then closed them. As though they had just caught an egg between their teeth and swallowed it whole, they waited for some weight to go down their throats.
“You shouldn’t do that, miss,” the round policeman spoke again. “You shouldn’t think about such hot or, well, sexually charged situations,” the not-so-round policeman had poked him in the ribs, “while driving. Or you see what happens—you hit a trash bin.”
“Sounds so ominous,” the not-so-round policeman said with half his mouth. Had he used his entire mouth, sexually appealing saliva wouldn’t have stopped flowing from the round policeman’s mouth and neck.
“I know, sir, but I just couldn’t not think about it. All the energy, all the electrifying force still remains in my body till this very moment, and I find myself longing for someone to subdue it even though only an hour ago a man was doing his best to subdue it, and I even thought he was doing a very decent job with this orgasm and all. So I don’t know why I’m still looking for someone to subdue it.”
The two policemen had now joined sides again, and saliva was flowing from a corner or two on each policeman’s mouth.
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