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Have you ever had an orgasm that was so glorious, so painfully glorious that your head spun and your breath hurt?
Normally Yumi is the only who can, who ever has, taken me to those heights. Last night, Ying, a casual colleague, took me there.
It began as normal play and escalated wildly. Suffice to say that Chinese women are often, though not always, smaller than Western women and so their hands are smaller. Ying was also strong, which belied her fragile appearance. Inside me she worked some kind of magic and when I collapsed, exhausted in the end, I had nothing left to give.
Ying left my room, quite contented from earlier play, and I lay, my face red, my entire body pulsing, and the sound of my heart thumping in my head. I dared not even close my legs for many minutes, such was my sensitivity. So there I lay, on a hotel bed, naked, arms and legs spread wide, unable to move, and close to passing out for the better part of half an hour. Glorious agony is the most perfect expression for what I felt, and heavenly albeit painful, release.
I know this entry is more graphic than I would normally be in this diary but I could think of no other way to convey the feelings, and I just had to convey them.
Once things settled down, meaning I was able to move and actually stand, I bathed and from the bath, called Yumi. She was, coincidentally, somewhat ‘in the middle’ of something herself but, as I’ve mentioned before I believe, we have an understanding that no matter what we’re doing, we will never ignore a phone call to one from the other. I related, briefly, my experience and she, sweet love that she is, promised to surpass tonight when next we’re together. I told her it’s not a competition but she said it was her mission to take me higher. Who am I to argue? *smile*
When we said goodnight, I could hear that, at the other end, over the sea in Hokkaido and spurred on by our conversation, Yumi was climbing a mountain of her own.
I left them to it.



