“Damn!” Megan muttered to herself when she first noticed the little bump
showing through her blouse. She’d been banging a report into her desk
computer when a stray motion of her arm had set of the Itch.

She tried to ignore it, but ever since her hormone treatments had
started, she’d been pestered by the Itch. And once her implants had
eliminated the need for artificial bra fillers, the Itch had become her
master, and she the slave.

Anything could set the Itch off: a chance gesture, a cough, or even a
stray erotic thought. She’d tried to prevent its onset by wearing heavy
cotton bras, soft tricot bras, and today, even the bold experiment of no
bra at all, but it was no use.

Her hyper-sensitive nipples started swelling. As they grew, they became
more and more tender. Megan knew that her large brown aureoles were
visibly darkening as the juices flowed into them. She held her breath,
hoping to keep the tiny motions of her slick white blouse from
stimulating her breasts further, but her very heartbeat was enough to
thrill them!

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” she sighed, and placed her two hands
carefully atop the swell of her heavy mounds. All ten of her inch-long
red and black enameled nails pointed inward, almost meeting over the
chasm between her silky lapels.

She waited a moment for her slender fingers to absorb the warmth of her
bosom, then watched and felt them descending slowly, inexorably towards
her prominent, fleshy nubbins. Her breasts were afire with need, and
Megan relished the anticipation of filling that need almost as much as
the act itself!

With her fingertips, she caressed the bumpy surface of her aureoles
through the soft material, allowing the long, sharp tips of her nails to
flick lightly against her distended nipples. She forced herself to draw
in a long, shaky breath before succumbing to temptation and rolling the
sweet sprites gently between her fingers and thumbs.

She’d have closed her eyes in ecstasy, but she couldn’t tear them away
from the sight! For years, she had dreamt of moments like these, and
now that they were a reality, she intended to enjoy them to the fullest!

Inevitably, the Itch did not confine itself to her breasts. Her entire
body was becoming aroused. While one hand continued to tickle her
wonderful globes, the other stole towards the hem of her short skirt.

The phone speaker rudely curtailed her activities. “Megan, could I
speak to you, a minute?” It was always pleasant to hear Donna’s voice,
but Megan did not welcome the interruption.

“Certainly, Donna,” she replied, and followed that with a “shit!” the
instant the red light winked out. Megan stood inside her office door,
unsure whether to wait to calm down, or to hope that her excitement
would subside before reaching Donna’s room.

It was too sudden to avoid! Donna had turned to speak to another woman
just as she threw open Megan’s door, and walked headlong into her
friend.

“Ssssss!” Megan sucked in her breath. For a brief moment, her entire
being was focused upon the tender, swollen tips of her white-hot
breasts. She closed her eyes while the tide of erotic sensation swept
over her.

They remained motionless for less than two seconds, but it seemed like
minutes to Megan. Her extraordinarily sensitive nipples were pressed
tightly against Donna’s lush breasts. She could almost count the
stitches in Donna’s lace bra through their silky blouses.

Donna’s “Oh, my!” caused Megan’s blue-shadowed eyelids to flutter open.
Megan felt the warm red glow spreading upward from her snowy cleavage,
and witnessed the same flush underlaying Donna’s adroitly painted face.

“Excuse me,” “I’m sorry!” the ladies exclaimed simultaneously. As they
separated, Donna’s lace cups raked Megan’s raw nerve tips like
sandpaper.

Donna was equally startled by their accidental collision. She was
thankful that her report had fluttered to the floor as they had met;
gathering the scattered sheets enabled her to collect her rattled wits.
She had never imagined being sexually aroused by a chance contact with
another woman! She tried desperately not to dwell on the sensation of
Megan’s stiff nipples mashed tightly against her own ripe melons.

“I’m sorry, Donna,” Megan began, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky
to Donna as it did to herself. “You startled me, and I …”

Megan stopped in mid sentence. She was completely flustered by the
sight of her finger-sized nipples showing so obviously through her
simple white blouse. She wanted to run away and hide, afraid of what
Donna might think!

“No, no, Megan, it was my fault,” Donna replied. “I was looking over my
shoulder when I came in, instead of looking where I was going. I didn’t
even knock.” She stood. “I was just bringing …”

Both women were suddenly very quiet. Megan’s heart pounded furiously,
and her eyes widened. She had not felt Donna’s nipples during their
contact. She was quiet sure of that. Yet there they were, standing to
attention under her shimmering red and black blouse, every bit as erect
as Megan’s own, defying her bra!

“Here’s the report” Donna suddenly blurted, thrusting the clump of
papers at Megan. She turned and hurried back to her office, closing the
door behind her.

Megan was startled to realize that, in her elevated emotional state, she
had been positively thrilled at the sight of Donna’s firm round fanny
swiveling beneath her slender leather skirt as she had run off. She
tried to get back to work, but the memory of Donna’s lace bra sliding
over her breasts were too strong to suppress.

Donna, in her office, just sat down and shook. She was hotter than she
had been in months, and she couldn’t fathom why! How could accidentally
bumping into her friend possibly have turned her on, so? She was no
lesbian! Certainly, she’d been happy to see the changes in Megan over
the last few months. She had watched her shy, diffident character
steadily expanding. Megan had become more confident, more alive. But,
Donna had never thought about her in an explicitly sexual context!

The more they thought, the more confused the women each became. Both
would have been shocked to know what the other was thinking.

Two pairs of panty-clad cheeks wiggled in two chairs as two skirts slid
higher. The girls were lucky. No one interrupted them.

–

One day, as I was sitting in the back of the classroom during study
hall, I began to daydream about one of the older boys in the school.
Unconsciously, my hand drifted under my skirt, and my fingers were
lightly rubbing the edge of the elastic of my panties.

Vickie’s voice, from the seat behind me, was startling when she
whispered, “Oh, Barb, isn’t that lovely.”

“Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Don’t worry, No one is paying any attention.” Then Vickie’s hand was
suddenly under my skirt, feeling the location of my fingers. She
squeezed my hand, and her hand drifted slowly, gently upward. “Where
is it?”

Her fingers generated marvelous feelings as they caressed my pubic
mound. But, all too soon, the bell rang and it was time to leave.
Confused, I tried to avoid her as we left school, but she caught up to
me and walked beside me.

“I can make it feel really good,” she said in a hoarse voice, as we
walked side by side. Frankly, my knees were weak, and my mind whirled
with plans for letting her prove her ability.

Although I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, I began to treat
Vickie as a best friend.

Just a few days later, we were playing after school in her back yard.
Her house was the same as the others in the neighborhood, but her back
yard was very deep–it actually extended the length of two or more of
the ordinary back yards. And, there was a grove of about a half dozen
pine trees, that surrounded a cool, dark glade. In that glade, I felt
completely isolated from the rest of the world.

We were doing something–I can’t recall what–then I felt her presence
behind me, and her warm breath in my ear, as she whispered, “I’d like
to make you feel good.”

Her arms went around my waist, and she kissed me, or licked me–I
don’t know–on the nape of my neck. It would sound icky to a young
girl, but it felt–well it felt nice. Very nice.

How hot she seemed as her lips caressed my neck–and how natural it
seemed as she pulled my arms upward, and lifted my shirt off in a
fluid motion. Her hand rubbed the surface of my “teen” bra, and
focused pressure on my right nipple. My breasts were still conical,
just developing, but her rubbing showed me for the first time just how
sensitive my nipples could be.

There was nothing that I could do except to revel in the feelings that
she was giving me. I felt warm and a little dizzy, and leaned back to
her.

She continued to nuzzle me, and with both hands she kneaded my
breasts. For the first time, I felt a warmth between my thighs.

With the tips of the fingers of her left hand, she began to rub up and
down my bare belly. Her fingers moved gently down the front of my
skirt, grazing the top of my pubic mound. The feelings were
indescribably intense, and I was so wrapped up in them that I didn’t
even notice when she unclasped my bra, unzipped my skirt and let both
garments drop to the ground.

She gently pulled me backwards, until I was sitting in her lap, as she
sat down on the ground.

As we sat, she continued to nuzzle, continued to rub, until I had my
first orgasm in her arms.

Later, she and I had many lovely times together. She taught me about
my body, and made me love her. I can’t even begin to explain what she
taught me.

However, our times together were soon over. When I began high school,
she family moved away, and, although we wrote to each other at first,
we eventually lost contact with each other.

In high school, I never made contact with another girl like I had with
Vickie. At first, it was because I mourned my lost love. Later, it was
because I was afraid to make such a contact with any of the other
girls. I had no way of telling which of them would be interested in
such games, and feared that if I approached the wrong girl, that she
would spread the word that I was “strange.”

However, I did discover that the making of love with boys and, later,
men could be quite pleasurable as well. Although, and perhaps it was
just the memory of my first time of feeling the wonder of sex, I never
found a man who could satisfy me in the same way as Vickie. As a
result, through my late twenties I was my own woman. I never married,
and I developed a rather successful career. I dated, and made love
with a few men–some of them were nice, but none of them were “right”

I first saw her at the office. Her breasts and legs caught my
attention as she parked her round, lovely bottom against a corridor
wall as we talked. I don’t believe that she noticed as I gazed at the
long stretch of her thighs underneath the hem of her skirt. We
frequently talked, and became office friends–often eating lunch
together.

I don’t know if I mentioned that she was married. Our conversations
would often turn to married life, and sometimes to her sex life. I
discovered, for example, that her husband was a very conservative
lover. She loved him, but would have been happier if he would loosen
up and include such things as mutual masturbation and oral sex in
their lovemaking routine.

It was perhaps a month or two later that she, in some way, recognized
my attraction to her. Her reaction was in the form of teasing and
joking. We never discussed getting closer, and I never broached the
subject of woman-to-woman love. However, she was aware of my
attraction, and, I suppose you’d say that she took advantage of it for
her own amusement.

For example, one day when I brought some paperwork to her at her desk,
she swung her knees around against my leg and began rubbing me with
methodical strokes, watching my eyes steadily with a slight, mocking
smile.

I don’t know what she was seeing in my eyes. Perhaps my pupils
dilated. Perhaps there was some sort of softness that she could
detect. She saw something, though, and laughed out loud, showing the
tiniest tip of shiny tongue between her pink lips and wet, white
teeth. I felt a strong tug of affection for her at that moment, and a
lovely warmth in my loins.

She had a fondness for sheer, silky blouses. When she wore one, it
gave me the urge to put my hands on her shoulders and delicately
caress the place where her bra straps were visible through the fabric.
When she wore a sweater, I felt an overwhelming desire to run my hands
under it, and to squeeze her lovely, round breasts.

Later–whether she started it or I, I don’t know–we developed a game.
First, it started with light, though sexy, banter. I would comment,
for example, on the color of her panty hose and ask her to pull up the
hem of her dress so that I could see them better. She would say “No,
your stockings are nicer, why not pull up your dress?”

Then, it gradually became more physical. We would meet in various
quiet corners of the building, and she would lean back against me,
gently rubbing her bottom against my mound. Sometimes, she would turn
around and give me a quick peck on the lips–once or twice, the kisses
were deeper. But always, she would break away after a few moments,
straighten her dress and leave me to dream of her lips and her body.

Then, she got pregnant with her first child. This caused a change in
our relationship. I believe part of it was that her husband wouldn’t
sexually satisfy her because of her pregnancy–but the result was to
my benefit, because our necking sessions at work became more involved,
and lasted longer. She seemed to find it harder to break away after a
brief touch or kiss, and she and I would often hug, kiss deeply and
fondle each other through our clothing. In fact, she seemed to become
frustrated, since we dared not do anything that lasted more than a
couple of minutes for fear of being discovered.

I craved her–but would only take our relationship as far as she
wanted.

A few months into her pregnancy, I moved from my old place to an
apartment which just “happened” to be a block from her house. This
meant that it became very convenient for us to car pool together. We
spent ever more time together, and I eventually would spend evenings
at her home, both when her husband was present, and when he was away
on a business trip.

When her husband was away, we would play. At first, we behaved like
teenagers–we sat on the couch and necked, then, after a while, we
would pet.

She complained of backaches as her body grew larger–so I read all the
books I could find, and learned to give a skilled massage. This meant
that I could see her naked, as she would lay on her bed, and I would
massage her aching muscles.

Soon, we both would wind up naked, and we would kiss, and cuddle and
would either masturbate each other, or watch each other as we
masturbated ourselves. I don’t believe that she started out as skilled
at pleasuring another woman as Vickie was, but we learned together,
and could give each other the greatest of pleasure.

Once, she took me as I was sitting down. I was sitting on the couch,
and she sat before me on the floor. Her hand reached under my skirt,
her fingers entering my womanhood. She crouched on the floor next to
me, her hand searching, moving, feeling within me. It felt so strange,
to sit quietly, hands folded across my breasts, her arm extended up
inside me–my legs spread far apart.

Sitting still, maintaining myself through the pure ecstacy of her
explorations: her little touches, her experiments, her caresses, her
attacks. Those long fingers plunging into me, then withdrawing to move
around my nether lips–the bud of my clitoris at first erect and
swollen, then withdrawing into the engorged nest. She rose, her
fingers still in place, her mouth seeking mine. Our tongues crowding
into each other, the one seeking the other, pleading and prodding.

I opened for her, whispering in her ear as she massages the inner
ridge of flesh, wrings it and makes it come like rain, the honey
weeping on her hand–my ecstacy telling her that I am hers.
Surrendering with each gush of that pink and hidden place.

She sat next to me, and we kissed. As we kissed, I removed her
housecoat–she wore nothing underneath except a pair of thin, silky
panties. I kissed her mouth, her neck, then spent time kissing and
licking and sucking on her lovely breast–now swollen with her
pregnancy. I kissed my way down her front, and moved myself forward
until I could reach her panties. I began to lick at her through the
thin barrier of the fabric, and her hands flew to my head, stroking my
ears, her open mouth making small cries as the tension built.

I moved aside the sopping nylon and buried my face against her. Her
nails grazed my back, as her legs jerked convulsively upward. Her
ankles locked against my spine. I moved slightly upward to her center,
sucked in into my mouth. Her loins rolled upward in powerful thrusts
as she cried out, my tongue and lips constantly moving until I felt
her shuddering against me, heard her scream, the tenseness dissolving
out of her.