Tentatively, she pushed against herself over her knickers.
Lying on her front, she held her hand - the first knuckle of her thumb, against herself. She pushed against herself.
She didn't know what would happen but she kept at it. It felt good.
It felt good and it kept feeling good. She kept at it.
She tried not to think of anything specifically. From what she'd read, it sounded like the problem with this sort of thing was the impure thoughts that went with it, not the act itself. She had no seed to spill; she wasn't hurting anyone.
She kept at it. It felt good.
It kept feeling good, and it kept feeling better. And better. She tried not to think of him.
She tried.
She thought of him. His hands on sherry glasses. His voice caressing every syllable.
She kept at it. On her front, one side of her face in her pillow, she felt good.
It kept feeling better.
She kept at it.
Until
Until
Somehow
It felt amazing.
And she kept at it, breathing hard shallow deep shallow again
And shuddered against herself
And kept at it and shuddered and it was an explosion, a revelation. Bliss ecstasy everything confusing and then it was over and she breathed deeply. Alone and strong. Powerful. Elated.
I suppose that's what they meant when they said "orgasm."
She slept better than she could remember ever having slept.
She woke up guilty. She promised herself that she wouldn't do it three times before the cock crowed.