Compared to last night, compared to our brief but meaningful makeout session, it was nothing. That had been truly questionable. Kylie fingering herself was lower on the scale of oddness, as far as I was concerned.
I cupped Kylie’s tits while she played with her pussy. They felt good in my palm, and I could tell fondling her was helping. Whatever it was about my presence that had necessitated action, feeling her up was definitely adding to it. She couldn’t hide her gasps and little moans when I lightly squeezed her boobs or tweaked her nipples.
Her movements grew quicker, her breathing loud and ragged. She abruptly tensed with her hand going frantic for a moment, then relaxed.
I moved my hand from Kylie’s chest and smoothed her hair. She curled in on herself for a bit, and I was somewhat expecting her to run off and hide from me. She didn’t. She stayed right where she was and eventually even rolled to face me.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said.
“You’re here. You didn’t leave. That’s enough.”
She lowered her eyes. I tilted her chin up, causing her to meet my gaze just before I gave her a soft kiss. The kiss dragged out far longer than I expected, by silent agreement, and I was running short on breath when it ended.
Kylie panted gently and her face was flushed, mirroring what I felt my own state to be. “Do that again,” she whispered.
So I did. We were still waking up, and already we were engaging in a protracted makeout session. It was slower and more purposeful than the night before, and allowed more time to figure each other out.
Her skin was so warm under my hands as I felt beneath her shirt. I caressed her tummy, her sides, and inevitably her breasts. She wriggled and squirmed, and eventually rolled right on top of me, still moaning into my mouth.
Kylie’s hips moved in their own wave-like rhythm. She had just masturbated to completion, but it wasn’t enough. She was still needy, still looking for satisfaction of a sort. I knew the feeling. My precautionary jerk off the night before seemed much further in the past than it was.
The way Kylie was grinding on me made my body crave more. She wasn’t quite hitting my cock, but was coming damn close. I got harder and harder while she writhed on top of me. I held back for a while, but eventually grabbed her hips and guided her to my erection.
Her eyes widened comically as I jabbed her pussy, my cock separated from her only by our underwear. Her grinding stuttered and stalled for a few seconds, then she closed her eyes, braced herself on my chest, and rocked with even more vigour than before.
I grabbed and fondled Kylie’s butt through her panties. She bit her lip, then kissed me again.
We were in a loop of sexuality that would only lead one place, if not stopped before then. The more I felt her, touched her, kissed her, and tasted her, the more I wanted to keep doing those things, to push even further.
The smart thing would have been to stop. All along, that had always been the traditionally ‘correct’ option. With every little slip of inappropriate behaviour, every flash of naughtiness, we really should have just stopped and tried not to do it again.