Feline

The baser instinct compels you past the point of resistance, and the urge to lick your wounds comes naturally. Squatting on the ground, you stretch your bare leg out straight, curling your head down in a posture more lithe and limber than you thought you were capable of. Lathing your tongue over the irritated skin on the front of your thigh sates the itch quickly, and you find yourself adept at cleaning yourself like this.

Before you know it you're sitting back with your legs open, grooming one just like a cat. Long, wet strokes of your tongue mollify the sting there, but bring a new sensitivity to mind as well. Just a little higher, your pussy feels awfully neglected. Your agile efforts to appease it the same way prove just beyond your capabilities, the warm, panting appendage leaving slick traces at the edge of satisfaction. It only draws your need out more, heat rising within you, almost like an instinct to mate...

A whining meow escapes as you lean back from the task of licking yourself there. You reach a frustrated hand down instead, some scant inhibition keeping it delicate and desultory as you feel your hot slit's sensitivity surge, squirming on the ground where you sit.

You bite your lip to stifle your mewling, struggling to sit up and make a decision. Heading back along the fence to find your way home seems the wisest option, but your head isn't focusing on anything wise right now. You want to follow this urge, moan out loud, and sate this animalistic heat...