Mornings are when it happened. I would wake up early, often before the alarm went off, and find my legs wrapped around a pillow. It's one particular pillow, the one that I didn't lay my head on. It's firmer than I like for sleeping on but it's just right for what I used it as. Rolling over I would get it situated just so, as a lump underneath me in just the right place. It took a little wiggling, but that's a good thing. I wrapped my arms around the other pillows and hugged them tightly, holding my face down against them.
And then...
I started to move.
At first it's gentle, a rocking motion over that firm lump. If I concentrate I can feel the lips of my pussy drag back and forth across that pillow, each tiny motion making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Those motions, those touches, those intense little vibrations became a ringing in my tummy and a tingle in my soul. I can still feel it creep all up and down my body, igniting every nerve.
The small motions became big ones, pressing harder down on the pillows and beginning a longer, rougher motion. I stroked myself up and down, and those motions were pulling my pussy lips around, parting them and rubbing them back together. I could feel the layer of the pillow case through the layer of my pajamas, and the sliding of the various material gave complexity to my motion. Usually I didn't wear panties to bed so the friction of material on material would transmit directly to my skin. I started circular motions with my hips.
Those circular motions caused my pussy lips to brush my thigh, to rub the pillow, to brush my other thigh, and even to open slightly and surround the edge of the pillow. There began to be a slight wet feeling and each motion was drawing more of that wetness out of the inner folds between my legs.
I moved.
It had begun, like a ramp I'm walking up. I kept rubbing my crotch against the pillow, harder each minute, until the bed began to gently squeak. I knew that sound, and I knew what it meant. It's a message to my brain to roll over. It's a welcome message, and I always followed it's advice. Though it's almost painful to stop, I had to leave the comfort of the pillow and lay on my back. I threw the covers off and faced the ceiling in the cool of the morning air.
It's agony to move slow but I put my hands on my belly, feeling the smooth skin and the tiny dimple of my navel. I was proud of it, because it's pretty in it's own way. But I didn't linger there. With one hand I raised the elastic of my pajamas and slipped the other down over the silky roughness of my pussy hair. It's short, and soft like corn silk. I ran my fingers through it like a comb, parting it off to the sides and exposing my pussy to my own touch for the first time.
It's so soft under my touch. I'd have liked to just touch it and feel it's velvety smoothness with it's slight wet sheen. Instead I ran the pad of my finger slowly down the crack as I felt the wetness build and cover the end of my finger. The sensation of heavenly touch awakened me fully to the feelings between my thighs. I had to keep touching. Drawing the finger back upwards I frosted the firm bit of flesh that is my clit with the liquid heaven that I pulled up from my pussy.
Now I began to rub.
There's no stopping now as an ocean of tingling waves moved up and down my body. That body was used to those waves and enfolded them, accepting them with passion. They rolled up and down from my scalp to my toes, each wave reinforcing the others and making the whole ocean of sex blot out everything else in the universe. Now I started shivering and clenching my toes hard as the first tremors awakened down deep inside me.
It's time, and with my other hand I reached down and slowly begin a shallow finger fuck of my aching pussy. I longed for more, but there's a barrier that I'm not ready to breach. It didn't matter. Almost at the instant I pushed my finger into myself a wrenching surge of life spilled out from my pussy to engulf my whole body. Every muscle in my body contracted in powerful waves, and each released into that wonderful lethargy of post-orgasm relaxation.
I really like masturbating.
I'd been doing it for years, and I knew all the tricks. All the little things to do that make my body respond. I 'm proud of my body, and I try to treat it right. When I pet it nicely it wiggles it's pleasure, but if I don't use just the right spin it's sullen and sulks. I know how to treat it right. It's one thing I'm really good at.
Oddly enough, back when I finally got myself a boyfriend this complicated matters. I was fairly adept at making myself feel good, but I knew that bringing the fireworks of an orgasm required a special touch. A touch that I had spent years perfecting, with constant practice and dedication. To say that I was apprehensive about having sex with Tom is an understatement.
It wasn't just fear that he wouldn't be able to please me, although that was certainly part of the equation. A big part of it was that I assumed he had learned to get himself off, and that I would be clumsy and embarrassedly inexperienced.
My mother had given me a little practical advice about it, and in our house there were a number of (what I later learned were) very good books on sex and volumes of titillating erotica. In all actuality I knew more, and more correct, information on the art of pleasing a man than most of my girlfriends. I just didn't have the actual experience, as some of them did.
As our senior year progressed I could feel matters coming to a head. He kept at me with various arguments, and to tell the truth I was wanting the same thing. However, somewhere down in my gut was this little ball of fear the made me keep him at arms length where sex was concerned. I was pretty sure it was going to happen, but I was also sure that it had to be just right or I would regret it.
So I just went home after each date and played with myself until I came. Sometimes over and over again, thinking of him and his broad shoulders and his sweet kisses. We necked a lot, because that's something I would let him do. And I liked it too, but he'd get really hot for me and try for more. Then I'd push him away, and end up at home with my busy fingers wet and tired.
One day late in the spring I headed over to his house. We had that nice kind of relationship where we both often just dropped in to do this and that. Play video games, watch TV, or whatever. That day I think I was just in the mood for some gossip and some hang time. I knew his mother was home and that therefore the issue of sex would be back-burner. A big plus was that Jean, his mother, was a wonderful cook and I would probably be invited to stay for dinner.
As I walked up the sidewalk I noticed that not only was Tom's car there, but Jean's car as well. Her husband was away for the weekend, as I already knew, and his sister was away at Western State. Seeing that the two cars that should be there were there, I was surprised when nobody answered my knock.
It was warm, so I figured that it was likely they were sitting in the back yard enjoying the shade. I went around the end of the house to the gate and started to open it. I was right, and I heard voices- but I also heard my name so I stopped and listened.
