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was true to her
word. A few seconds later she was again coming, only this time from
the touch of my fingers fondling her meaty twat.
    Following the second
orgasm, Belinda announced she needed to sit down. Her legs had
become wobbly. She was sweating, and she fanned her face briskly
with both hands. I helped her to the couch and held her shoulders
as I directed her to the seat. She leaned back and started to fan
her chest. Her energy, at least for the moment, was
spent.
    "Can I have a glass of
water?" she asked.
    "Sure."
    I trotted off to the
kitchen where I took out a clean glass from a cabinet and a
container of bottled spring water from the refrigerator. I poured
the bottle into the glass, called out to inquire whether Belinda
wanted ice (she didn't), and headed back to the living room. What I
saw when I returned was Belinda, still seated in the same place on
the couch, but with one foot planted on the cushion in order to
raise that leg and more completely expose her crotch as she now
fanned her pussy with both hands.
    "It gets hot down there,"
she smirked.
    "I'll bet it
does."
    "You've got no
idea."
    She kept fanning with one
hand and used the index and middle fingers of the other to spread
open her pussy lips, thereby giving the inner reaches of her labia
a more thorough airing.
    "I thought the place would
smell more like pussy," she mused as she continued to air out her
genitalia. "I mean, considering what you do here. My gynecologist's
office always smells like pussy. Well, whaddaya expect,
right?"
    Belinda snickered at her
own joke.
    The fact is, this was
still pretty early in the course of this experiment I'd set up,
and, although the responses to the ad were just beginning to pick
up, there hadn't been all that much pussy in the apartment as yet.
Belinda was one of the early ones. But her comment gave me cause to
stop and think. What if the place starts to smell like one big
pussy? Is that a turn-off for women—I mean the smell of another
woman's sex wafting through the air? Would that send some of them
running? Or would it be a kind of turn-on for those who, like
Belinda, were looking for a naughty experience and wanted to be someplace that reeked
of naughtiness. There's a question I wasn't prepared to answer,
and, frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted to risk putting it to any kind
of test.
    I was contemplating
whether the stores sell aerosols designed specifically to cover up
the smell of wet pussy, and just what stores might stock such a
product, and how one would go about asking for it, when Belinda
chirped, "Ready to go again?"
    She was up on her feet,
turned sideways, and had her arms crossed over her
breasts.
    "You can sit if you like,"
I offered.
    "I'd rather
stand."
    "Okay. Want me to come
over there?"
    "Why?" she said almost
with a little girl's voice, doubling up as though she had been
accidentally walked in on while she was taking a shower. "So you
can take advantage of me in my state of undress? I can see you're
no gentlemen…staring at my naked
body ."
    We were back to the play
acting. This was Belinda's way of getting herself off—with a little
help from me. Nude humiliation excited her. That's probably why she
preferred to be standing rather than sitting while she was
masturbated. Standing has more of the feel of having been caught in an unplanned
situation than does the feel of reclining or sitting at ease, the
more usual positions when one is engaged in consensual sex. Really,
how often do people have sex standing up? And, even if it starts
that way, chances are the sex partners are headed for a place to
lie down soon enough. That's typical.
    Belinda wanted her
masturbation to be anything but typical . She wanted it to be embarrassing . Humiliating . Taboo sex with a man with whom she wouldn't
willingly lie down and have natural sex .
If I hadn't been there, I suspect she would have acted out these
scenes of pretend embarrassment with an imaginary peeper or
attacker. And it's likely she did that fairly