Rachel Touches

Everything is learned through touch and sound, the rest of me dulled to the world. But my senses are on fire all the same, a twitching burn beneath my skin that begs out for an attention I don't know if I can fully give to it.

I'm willing to try my best.

I hear Rachel stop next to my bed and I hear a little chuckle as she looks down at me. With a momentary pause she considers her options, I'm sure, shifting her weight from one foot to the other before reaching out.

There is a touch on my belly, just below my ribs. A brush of something hard and firm and almost cold there. The shock of it makes me inhale as goosebumps break out across my skin and I shiver, arching my back a little as I lean into it.

From that point, from the point of contact, she traces circles on me. She spins them out from the heart of me and brushes light and even across my skin as she expands, as she touches.

I've been touched so much, by so many hands. If I put my mind to it honestly I could pick out who was doing the touching just by the tenor of it, like picking out a voice. Everyone is different, unique. Some strong and rough, calloused hands and fingers catching on my skin and tickling and scratching just a little. Others soft and manicured, neat nails and smooth pads and a touch gentle but determined, firm in their sureity. Each one has its own benefits and flaws, each its own values.

None would I ever turn down.

Rachel is focused in her touch always and that too is the case when she is touching through the medium of whatever substitute cock she's found. I'm missing the specific features of her hands, but the touch still translates and I can feel the way she smoothes out the lines of me and follows the topography of my valleys and mountains.

Rachel always finds the places I didn't know existed. A little inch of skin just beneath my ribs and on my side that makes me tense and grit my teeth because it sends a wave of delicious heat brimming beneath me. A part on my hip, on the outside of it, that makes me shimmy and push my legs apart in a **** bid to have her dive between them. The nape of my neck. The inside of my wrist, just above the binding.

Oh god I'm **** for her, I fucking need her. I want her so goddamn bad and I can't help it and I am aching, whimpering and pulling against my bindings and biting down hard, an inch away from thrashing my head back and forth in frustration.

She's been building me. She's been building and building and building me. It's been so much teasing and so much promises and I know that she's going to give it to me now and I want it and I am so focused on it that I don't even notice that the bed has shifted as she's moved onto it, as she's laid herself next to me on it.

But then the fingers of one hand join the hard solidity of whatever cock she found on my body. She teases those fingers into the inner blush of my thigh while her cock presses against my hip and then with a brush she just slips briefly against my sex and it's nearly too much to take. And I moan so loud that I'm sure that Lucas hears no matter where he is and I'm thinking of him, I can't help it.

But neither can Rachel.

She nibbles my hear and purrs honey into it, vibrating with delight next to me as I respond so well to her. A brush of a kiss in that spot behind my ear and I whimper after my moan but that's not enough.

"I liked it better when you moaned," she says, "But we can still fix that. I'll have you more than moaning by the time I'm done with you. I'll have you screaming out for more."

I nod, eagerly, my heart pounding in my chest.

"So loud that he'll hear," she tells me, "So loud that Daddy will know what he's missing."

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