Touching And Being Touched

Touching and being touched. The sensation from both fingertips and the body beneath those fingertips. The feeling of it rising within me as my skin grows almost itchy and certainly hot the closer I get.

My right hand, the one on my ribs, brushes lightly against the bottoms of my breast and I find that the gasp I exhale is entirely out of my own control. That merest sensation is enough to tease out a surge of pleasure from within me, to reignite that need that makes me squirm with something close enough to discomfort to be mistaken for it. Just a brush and it’s already so intense, so I focus my attention on my left hand for an instant as it slips from the relative safety of my hip to the utter danger of my upper thigh. Pressing far too close to something far too sensitive to be anything but overwhelming as I register it all and realize that I’m gasping and trembling, my knees almost buckling under the pressure of the moment and the utter expectation of more.

More. I want more. I fucking need more. I need to feel it and like a crazed woman I want it and I press on, the fingers of my left hand slipping down and in, caressing the skin midway down my thigh and slipping in to the far more sensitive inner part of my leg.

Crawling, twisting and curling. Less fingertips than fingernails now as the little pricks and slight scratch of that sensation drives me a little madder with my need.

With my eyes closed my senses are limited and my body eliminates the ones that aren’t giving input right now, focusing on touch and focusing on hearing, tossing out all the rest.

And touch, that was clear and evident. But hearing, that was almost better.

With my ears tuned to it I could make out the sound of my fingers on my body. The slight scratching, the brush of skin on skin. Overpowering that was the increasingly ragged shudder of my breath coming out of control, rising in elevation and frequency and now overwhelmed and drowned out by the last of it.

The sound of blood. My own blood. My thundering pulse pounding like a bass drum and coming faster and louder. The rush of it in my ears as my head went dizzy, as I felt my body start to sway and I felt my hands continue to explore.

Right hand too much. That little brush against my breast too much to take and so I slip around instead, avoiding the sensitive touch and alighting along the top of it. Pushing up to my collarbone and feeling the bump of it, cresting in to my neck with slight little curving touches as I feel my skin start to bubble with heat beneath my fingers.

My left hand slowly, oh so achingly slowly, continuing its journey. Taking its time and meandering to and fro as if trying to throw off the scent of a pursuer, as if trying to take myself by surprise but still making steady progress towards the inevitable destination.

That inevitable end. That place which now was impossible to ignore. That was screaming out for attention and begging for it, begging to be touched by a lover but my own hands would do.

For now.

I could feel it between my legs, could feel the warmth of it and the absence of that hard thickening that was oh so familiar to me. When I had been worked up like this in the past there was a clear evidence of that need in the thickening of my cock, there was a bluntness to masculine craving that was entirely absent in this feminine form.

Now my need was almost hidden behind blushing heat and quivering folds. It was disguised but no less present and the fact that it came without an eager appearance made it easier to forget until it became impossible to ignore.

I wanted to be touched. I needed it. The heat that had been building beneath my skin turned to an electric sizzle that ran up and down the length of me and that refused to be ignored. I could feel it from my fingers to my toes, this nervous energy that made it hard to do anything but press on, but fight against the embarrassment and embrace the need of the moment and the need of me.

The need of my new body.

Hands moving quicker now, fingers pushing in harder. Left hand slipping up my thigh so fast and right one slipping from my neck to slide down over the crest of my breast. Pushing over the top of it and feeling the firmness of my skin respond as I came closer to my nipple, sliding to the right and slipping around to cup it and hold it.

It was tight and it was perky. It was almost bouncy in its response. So warm and so firm and so soft that I couldn’t help but squeeze just a little, holding my hody in my hand and feeling it reply.

Feeling it from both ends. Touching and being touched. Feeling it bubble up from deep within me and come out guttural and insistent and out of control.

My moan. My moan of need in her sweet and saccharine voice. Shuddering out from the depths of me, starting off heady and heavy and coming out high and light at the end. Nearly a squeak and definitely full of surprise.

Oh god. It was everything I wanted and everything I feared at once.

It was better than I could have ever imagined. And I wanted more.

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