Cindy's Training: First Drops of Pleasure

The scent of rain hung heavy in the air, clinging to the damp concrete of the alleyway outside the Golden Nugget casino. Inside, the plush velvet booths and clinking glasses of the high-roller lounge were a stark contrast to the grimy reality just beyond the tinted windows. It was here, amidst the scent of expensive cigars and desperation, that I first saw her – Cindy, a whirlwind of neon lights and shattered dreams. Stripping wasn't a career choice; it was a means of survival, a desperate attempt to claw her way out of the abyss. I, Cal, had found a perverse pleasure in bringing order to chaos, both in the world of adult entertainment and in the lives of those caught within its web.

I'd been observing her for weeks, fascinated by her raw talent and the haunted look in her eyes. The whispers around the club spoke of a past filled with hardship, a life marked by violence and neglect. But beneath the layers of pain and disillusionment, I sensed a primal desire, a yearning for pleasure that burned like a hidden flame. It was this desire that led me to approach her, to offer her a different kind of escape – a chance to tap into the depths of her own sexuality, to experience the intoxicating sensation of squirting.

She wasn't hesitant. In fact, she seemed almost eager, a flicker of hope in her eyes as she accepted my proposition. We began our training sessions in my penthouse apartment, a sanctuary of dark leather and chrome, reflecting the decadent lifestyle I'd built for myself. The first few nights were awkward, filled with hesitant touches and stifled moans. But as I coaxed her, pushing her boundaries, the tension in the room grew palpable, thick with unspoken desires.

The training itself was a carefully orchestrated dance of dominance and submission. I started by stripping her down, revealing her perfect body beneath a silk robe, leaving only a delicate lace thong to cling to her hips. The rain outside intensified, drumming a frantic rhythm against the windows, mirroring the escalating heat between us. I took her into my arms, cradling her against my chest, feeling the frantic beat of her heart against my ribs.

"Tonight, Cin," I whispered, my voice a low rumble against her ear, "we begin."

I began by tracing patterns on her inner thighs, slow, deliberate strokes designed to awaken her senses. Her muscles tensed, her breath hitched, and a shiver ran through her as I moved my hand lower, towards her hips. I pinned her wrists above her head, forcing her to look up at me, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"Relax, Cin," I instructed, my voice firm yet gentle. "Let go of the fight. Just feel."

As she writhed in my grasp, I slipped two fingers into her, curling them around her clitoris, preparing for the next stage. Simultaneously, I pressed my thumb against her G-spot, applying pressure with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her body arched, her hips thrust forward, and she let out a moan of pleasure.

"Don't hold back, Cin," I urged, my voice laced with a touch of command. "Let the pleasure consume you."

I continued my assault, escalating the pressure and speed, pushing her further and further into the brink of ecstasy. The rain outside intensified, mirroring the torrent of sensation washing over her. Finally, as she reached her limit, a gush erupted from her, a violent release that shook her entire body. She screamed, her voice raw and primal, as she surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

The next few sessions focused on mastering control. We experimented with different techniques, pushing her boundaries, breaking her down, and rebuilding her in a new image. I taught her how to control her breathing, to focus her energy, and to harness the power of her own orgasm. Each session was a brutal, yet strangely beautiful, exploration of her sexuality.

As Cindy’s ability to squirt grew stronger, our intimacy deepened. It wasn't just about physical pleasure anymore; it was about trust, vulnerability, and a shared understanding of their own desires. The rain continued to fall outside, but inside our apartment, a different kind of storm was brewing – a storm of lust, desire, and unbridled passion.

One evening, as we were training, Cindy began to panic. She couldn't seem to relax, her body tense and rigid. "I can't do it, Cal," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "I can't let go."

I pulled her close, holding her tight against my chest. "You can, Cin," I reassured her. "You just need to trust me. Let go of your fear, and let me take control."

I started kissing her, slow, deep kisses that sent shivers down her spine. As my lips moved across her body, I gently massaged her clitoris, applying pressure with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The more intense the stimulation, the more relaxed she became, her body gradually surrendering to the pleasure.

Finally, as she reached her limit, she let out a gasp, and another gush erupted from her, this time even more powerful than before. The pleasure surged through her veins, washing away her fears and doubts. She arched her back, her hips thrust forward, and let out a primal scream of delight.

As the final drops of pleasure subsided, Cindy collapsed into my arms, exhausted but exhilarated. I held her close, burying my face in her hair, savoring the scent of her skin. In that moment, I knew that Cindy had not only mastered the art of squirting; she had also discovered a new sense of freedom, a new sense of self. And I, Cal, had been the catalyst for her transformation. The rain continued to fall outside, but inside our apartment, the storm had passed, leaving behind only the sweet residue of pleasure and the promise of more to come.

Did you like this story? Cindy's Training: First Drops of Pleasure look, but like these, here Sex stories.