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The tingle in my thighs flashes up to my breasts.
“You can play over your mound.”
My breath heaves.
“Press down at the base of your stalk.” His voice is thickens. “Only one finger.”
“Oh, god, Carlo,” my stomach clenches and trembles.
“Up and around the inside of your hood.”
My voice is thin. Hoarse and shaky. “I don’t know if I can keep my balance.”
“Stay strong, soldier. We’ve hardly even started yet.”
Hearing the pleading in my voice makes me even weaker. “Carlo.”
“Keep that finger for around your clit.” He says, “You can play all you like with it. But don’t touch the bean.”
“Damn, Carlo.”
“Now. I’m going to tell you exactly what to do with the other hand.”
“Okay.”
“Take another lick first.”
I reach my hand down into my drenched, weeping folds. The wet, pulsing heat, the buzzes and trembles are even more intense than usual.
The taste sets me off higher. I feel dirty, decadent doing that. Not that I haven’t done it before — not much, but it’s not my first time — but Carlo telling me. And the way he’s telling me. Ordering me.
Even with the wall for support, I’m unsteady on one leg. Squirming again. Juices run down my leg.
“Slip your finger inside now.”
When he tells me, I want it. I want to do it so much it makes me afraid.
“Hold it straight and press it in.”
“Oh, Carlo.” My knees shake.
“Work your finger in and out, slowly. Pulling toward the front.” I’m shaking. I never had anyone tell me how to do anything like this.
“Slowly. But keep your finger straight. Pulling to the front. Against the walls.” A cluster of sensations starts up inside me, like tiny waterfalls. Flashing. Dropping. Splashing.
“Keep going while you get wetter. Hotter.”
Flashes in my stomach make me want to double over.
“When you feel ready, you can put in a second finger. But keep them straight, and pull to the front.”
Tingles run up and down my thighs and my nipples are sore. I want to tweak and pull them.
“That’s it. Good girl. Now you can start to curl your fingers.”
“Oh! God!” I just scraped one of my trigger spots.
His grin and his dirty laugh set off a splash like a bucket of ice dropping and falling through me. Tumbling and rolling up as well as down.
