Long enough to make the warmth of my hand, casually resting on my thigh as I drove, more stirring than usual.Long enough to make the warmth of my hand, casually resting on my thigh as I drove, more stirring than usual. As I recall, I arrived at the parking lot, pulled into a spot that was, as I playfully thought, "right under a light!", and turned off the motor. I remained seated behind the wheel. A few weeks seemed like such a long time. Though I began with friendly thoughts, very soon those friendly thoughts were supplanted by a few exploratory caresses. How it excites me to feel my own warm, soft hand, trailing slowly down along my neck, followed leisurely by the a touch of the very tip of my tongue to a fingertip and a nibble every now and then on the sensitive pads of my fingers. The way I draw my teeth lightly across the delicate skin--well, I must know. I remember it. And then to my mouth, my lips soft and gentle at first, mouth open. I remember lifting my other hand to brush back my hair, getting caught up in the silky feel of its length. I remember my excitement as my tongue began to stroke the roof of my mouth, lightly, playing along the tender skin there. And then the feel of my mouth changed as I moved, and my arms came up, hands resting on my chest, occasionally meandering up or down, agonizingly slowly. My heat became more demanding as my hands and my breasts came into contact. The way I started when my fingers brushed down across my nipple was enough to straighten me up in the seat. I had enjoyed my reaction, so I continued, concentrating on my left nipple, the more sensitive one. |