But it’s okay now, right? He basically gave me permission. In fact, he told me to touch myself here in his bed. “Our bed.” The voice in my head taunts me.
I can’t think of it asourbed when I’ve never shared a bed with a man before. I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since I was a small kid and I went to my one and only sleepover party with some girls at the school I was attending.
A flare of anxiety pulses through me, dampening the heat that’s pooling below my waist. Can I sleep in the same bed with him? He as good as told me that’s what he’s expecting when he gets back in two days. He told me he wants to crawl intothisbed with me.
Is that what I want?
“Yes,” the annoyingly honest voice in my head shouts, and it’s not a lie. The idea of having him beside me, his warmth and the things he makes me feel curled around me all night, isn’t unappealing.
Would he be naked? Would I be naked? I spent two years dancing in just a tiny thong, I’m not scared of showing my skin. But I haven’t seen a man completely naked…ever. Warrick is big. Is he big everywhere? What do I do if his dick is massive? I’m a virgin, do I want to learn how to have sex with a man whose cock is big enough to rip me apart?
“Yes,” my inner slut taunts. “Yes, you do.”
“Oh god,” I say aloud, my fingers slipping across my thigh to rest on the fabric of my panties.
He touched me like this. He cupped my sex with his palm then teased me about my panties being wet. I definitely feel hot, but was he telling the truth? Am I wet?
Needing to know, I mimic what he did, sliding my whole hand over my panties and feeling the warmth and dampness of the cheap cotton. I’m wet, just like he said I was. But now that I’m aware of the state of my underwear, they instantly feel clammy and uncomfortable.
A part of me tells me not to, but I move my hand and start to tug them off, not wanting to feel the cooling material against my skin. Kicking them off my feet, I freeze when my bare butt touches his sheets.
Oh god, I just took my panties off in Warrick’s bed. What the hell is wrong with me, and why, instead of going back to the room I was asleep in before he showed up this morning, am I slipping my fingers between my folds to find the clit I know is there, but that before I met him, I hadn’t bothered to touch in years?
A groan of absolute bliss rockets through me and out of my mouth, the moment my finger grazes a path across the bundle of nerves. Wondering if it was a one-off, I stroke my finger across it again and feel my back curl up off the bed.
Why have I never wanted to do this before? Did I realize it would feel like this? I try to force my brain to focus onmy questions, but my mind turns to an aroused goo. The only thoughts that seem to materialize in my head are that, if this feels this good when I do it, how much better will it be when it’s Warrick’s fingers exploring me, and not my inexperienced ones?
Driven by instinct, I rub my finger back and forth over my clit, feeling more heat and liquid start to pool between my thighs. Needing to experience more, I slide a single finger lower, gliding it through the wetness until it finds my entrance.
Unsure how to make myself feel…good, I carefully dip the tip of my finger into my body. It feels strange, but not unpleasant. Pushing a little deeper, I wait for the explosive burst of pleasure, but when it doesn’t come, I drag my fingers back up my body and find my clit again.
“Oh, god,” I pant when the addictive surge of bliss starts to build and grow as I slowly rub and circle the tiny nub. Exploring, I experiment with speed and pressure, finding out what feels good as I learn how to pleasure myself. The orgasm takes me by surprise, and I groan as tremors of sensation splinter inside of me then ricochet out, making my toes curl as my body tenses and shakes all at the same time.
When the pulses of pleasure start to fade, my chest is heaving and my eyes are heavy. I fall asleep with my fingers between my legs and the covers kicked aside, my bare lower half exposed and resting in his bed.
It’s late when I finally wake up again, confused about where I am for a moment before I remember his early morning visit, our conversation, and the promise I made to sleep in here and to only touch myself in his bed.
The cell phone he bought for me is plugged into the charger on the bedside cabinet beside me. Part of me wants to ignore it, but he asked me to read and reply to his texts and to answer his calls when he contacts me. Leaning over, I carefully pick it up, then tap the screen to bring it to life.
The screen shows a single text sent over an hour ago.
Warrick: I wish I was there with you, amore mio. Did you eat breakfast yet?
Feeling guilty for not replying, I type out a quick message and hit send.
Me: I’m sorry, I fell back asleep after you left. I just woke up. I haven’t been downstairs yet.
The tick to show a message has been read changes color immediately, compounding my guilt at taking so long to reply until it feels like a weight sitting on my chest.
Warrick: Don’t apologize, I’m glad you got some more sleep, and I’m enjoying the image of you curled up in my shirt, in our bed.
Me: I don’t know what time it is, but it feels late. I should get up.
Warrick: Why? You have no plans for the day. Stay in bed. Eat junk food and watch TV.
Me: I can’t stay in bed all day.
Warrick: Why not? My day will go a lot quicker if I spend it thinking about you naked and playing with my pussy while you wait for me to come home.
