When Carly and I first married, we were both relatively sexually inexperienced, neither of us were “Virgins”; she had two male partners prior to the two of us getting together, and I was active with four partners: three female and exchanging blow jobs with one male that one time at scout camp. Other than some heavy make-out sessions with plenty of through-the-clothing touchy-feely activity, that was the only experience either of us had. My close circle of friends and I had our own version of a “Circle-Jerk”, we frequently masturbated together, watching and being watched wasn’t what I would consider sexually active, just a game of self-exploration among good friends.

A few years after we were married on a late Friday night, we were lying in bed watching Cinemax After Dark; I had hoped she would get as horny as I was going to be while watching the Adventures of Emmanuelle, unfortunately she fell asleep before the first sex scene even started.

After about the third sex scene, that happened to be an incredibly hot lesbian exploration, I couldn’t resist pushing the sheet down to expose my fully erect cock with the pre-cum streaming out the head, descending the throbbing shaft, already forming a pool at the base. Tasting my pre-cum has been a part of my masturbation from before I even discovered how to actually give myself an orgasm. I checked to see if Carly was still asleep, then ran my two fingers into the pool, coated them, lifted my hand to my lips and pressed them in for the satisfaction of my tongue. A loader moan than I had expected escaped my chest and throat that caused Carly to stir slightly.

I froze. My sex-covered fingers were still between my lips. Had she caught me? Not that I would have minded if I had; after masturbating with my friends in my younger days, I had learned not to be shy about it. But I had never done it with my wife in the room before, I looked over to her, I thought she was still sleeping. I finished sucking my sex off my fingers while watching her close, reached down to the twitching, glistening, hard cock and wrapped my fingers around the base of the shaft giving it a tight squeeze to force more of my sex out the purple head. The fluid streamed down the entire length, completely saturating my fingers. I had to taste it again, and couldn't resist. I did not care if she caught me. I wanted her to catch me in my moment of self-pleasure. I pressed two fingers into my mouth, withdrew them, and plunged back in while watching her. The thought of her catching me was making the act even hotter. I intentionally moaned aloud again. No noticeable reaction. This masturbation was starting to feel reminiscent of the first time I made myself cum, I was determined to re-enact the entire experience that I had alone in my room that glorious night as a teenager.

Removing my fingers from my mouth; I wrapped the shaft with my fist and began a slow stroking of its slick length, my balls were already lifting and twitching with the need for release, I knew that this was not going to take long. I closed my eyes, and increased the pace of pumping towards my goal. My hips joined in the action, fucking my fist like an un-seen pussy. A guttural groan burst out of my chest as I exploded, sending cum onto my abs and chest. As I came down from the euphoria of my orgasm, I slowly cleaned the remnants of my load from my fingers by pressing each of them between my waiting lips just as I did so many years before. This time the taste was not a foreign curiosity but felt natural and familiar. I wanted to re-enact my first successful masturbation; I cleaned up every drop of my seed by scooping up with my fingers from my abbs and plunged them between my eager lips.

I suddenly remembered that I was not alone, but again, I was not concerned. I was focused on the job of cleanup, after sucking the last drop off the two fingers that were pressed between my lips, I glanced over to Carly; her eyes were open, intently watching. There was not an expression of shock, anger, or disgust, mostly seemed like curiosity and wonder.

I responded with a sheepish, sly grin. “Would you like to Join in?” I asked.

After a moment of consideration, Carly shook her head. "Is that your standard procedure?" she asked.

I stifled a nervous laugh, thought about how best to respond for a moment.

“No. Not always. I usually just taste my pre-cum and clean the cum with a Kleenex, but this time I felt the need to do it like I did when I first learned how to make myself cum,” I replied.

While she was deep in thought considering my answer, a few questions of my own began taking shape in my head. “When did you learn how to masturbate? And, do you still do it the same way?” I asked.

Her response was immediate, “I don’t do that! I have never touched myself like that!” she blurted out.

I was shocked. I thought everyone learned how to masturbate when they were teenagers. I remembered when my friends and I heard Dr Ruth say, “Ninety-nine percent of all men masturbate, and the other one percent lie about it.” That was the day that we stopped hiding it and invented our own circle-jerk. I assumed that girls had their own version of what we did, maybe just wishful thinking on my part. I was slightly saddened that she had never experienced the joy of self-pleasure. “Would you like to learn how?” I asked.

She responded “No…” trailing off inaudibly while she was nodding a conflicting Yes.

I leaned closer to her, lightly kissed her neck behind the ear, trailing my tongue upward to her ear and whispered, “Let me teach you. I want to watch you learn how just like you watched how I learned to pleasure myself.”

“Yes, teach me how,” was her quiet moaning reply.

I slowly slid the blankets off her, her breathing was already increasing as she watched the covers revealing her aroused nipples straining to escape her semi-transparent white tank-top pajamas. Continuing to push the blankets lower across the soft skin of her abbs, allowing my fingertips to barely trace a line to her waiting pussy. I was deliberately moving as slow as possible, attempting to build the anticipation of desired first contact; I had no intention of actually giving her any more contact than what my fingertips were providing at that moment. I wanted her to crave the contact so intensely that she could not resist doing it herself.

I nibbled on her ear and whispered, “Close your eyes. Focus your attention on your swollen, sensitive nipples. The building heat and wetness of your panties is what you want before you allow yourself to touch.”

She accepted the advice with a simple moan, spreading her thighs wider apart. I had my student firmly invested in the lesson that was about to belatedly unfold with her own sexuality. Her heaving chest, the obvious wetness of her panties was clearly on display with the lowered blankets. The spread open thighs confirmed that she was ready to explore. Ready to discover the self-love she had denied herself for so many years, instinctively knowing what she is capable of with a little guidance from someone who loves her.

“Do you feel that unseen connection between those hard nipples and your super-heated wet pussy?” I asked.

“Yes. I want more!” she whispered.

“Do you want to touch yourself? Are you ready for more?” I asked.

“Tell me what made you so hard and why you came so fast. Was it about me?” she replied.

“I was watching Emmanuelle being seduced by her Chamber Maid and I imagined that you were Emmanuelle. The thought of you being touched in such a sensual way by another woman caressing your breasts until your nipples ached for her tongue. Your moans of ecstasy when she gave you what you desired. Your hand was on the back of her head entwined in the auburn hair, guiding her to your waiting pussy, your thighs were spread wide in anticipation for her tongue,” I told her.

 “Don’t be afraid. Do what feels natural, my love,” I commanded.

Her right hand started to move towards her breast, hesitant, almost imperceptible motion, but clearly becoming braver with each passing second. Finely making that first, electric touch of the ultra-sensitive nipple; beginning a slow roll of the hardened nub between her thumb and forefinger that released an involuntary gasp.

I continued to nibble on her ear while watched my wife work her fingers, caressing her own nipple for the first time. I was not sure who was enjoying this most. My previously spent penis started growing in response to the anticipated show, already throbbing and oozing pre-cum down the veiny shaft; I forced myself not to take a taste, this was her moment not mine.

“Take your other hand and find your clitoris. You know that you want it, there's no shame, it's natural. Imagine that it is the tongue of the ChamberMaid. Someone so incredibly sexy that you want to fuck them as soon as you possibly can. Your fingers are capable of satisfying every desire of your imagination,” I commanded quietly.

Her left hand suddenly slid down her belly and into the top of her white cotton panties, boldly taking what she wanted. Not needing any more suggestions from me. She was in her own world now, her mind painting the erotic scene that her fingers were enacting; her moaning was getting louder with each pull of the nipple. With each strumming of the engorged clit. Her chest was heaving with haggard breaths, her hips began to lift off the bed to give better access to the tongue of her unseen Chamber Maid.

A loud, guttural scream escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. I could see her fingers slide lower, abandoning the throbbing clitoris in favor of the wet hole beneath. Plunged two fingers in as deep as her reach would allow. Her orgasm was still building. She wanted, needed more. Repeatedly driving the fingers in and out in quick succession. Gasping for air with each deep stroke, her thumb pressed firmly into the swollen clit. The thumb and forefinger of her other hand was still pulling on the nipple with such aggression and intensity, I was afraid she would hurt herself. Another louder scream signaled that she had achieved Nirvana.

Eyes held tightly closed, her finger slowed their assault on her cunt, her breathing began to return to normal, slow and deliberate.  Her right hand let go of her nipple to trace another line down the abbs to the hem of the stretched white cotton panties, lifted up, exposing the swollen clit beneath the thumb with fingers buried between the wet lips of her labia.

A fraction every second, the fingers withdrew; the labia refused to close, unsuccessfully begging for more as they were moved to her other waiting lips. She wanted to taste her own sex, her first taste of a woman; to experience what I had experienced with my first time of self-love and curiosity.