Scissor Link Georgette Kaplan (best self help books to read .TXT) 📖

“Good girl,” Janet replied. “Take your time. Do it right.”

Hold back, she had to hold back, don’t, she told herself firmly as her middle finger stroked between her labia lips, the opening just starting to open. Don’t. She was so wet, when was the last time she’d been so wet? You know you’re not ready yet, can’t be ready. It felt so good, the pad of her fingertip on her inner flesh, the supple leather, the little flecks of stitching, just this close to giving her inner muscles something to clench on, something they desperately needed. Please, she begged someone, herself, the universe, Janet Lace wherever the hell she was.

She pictured Janet, and the craziest fucking thing was that she didn’t imagine her in her underwear, or in the shower, or getting a thorough massage from Angie Harmon. She pictured her like she was at the office, her hair neatly styled, her glasses on, her maroon blouse fully buttoned, her gray skirt running down to her knees, like who the fuck got off on that, the Victorian Era? But that was how she thought of Janet, all centered and powerful and imperial and precise, and a sigh drew out of her as luxuriously as she’d savor a Godiva chocolate.

“It’s…” Wendy bit her lip. Shit, her nipples hurt, they were too damn hard to be wearing a bra, but she couldn’t care about them when she was feverishly rubbing between her legs, her middle digit twitching like a gunslinger’s trigger finger. And she didn’t know if she decided to, on some level, or if it just happened from wanting it so much, but her middle finger slipped inside, slick and slender, went inside to the knuckle, and it didn’t hurt at all. “It’s in,” Wendy gasped, hearing an answering intake of breath from Janet. Was she?

“Show me.” If she was, her voice showed no sign of it. Didn’t tremble, didn’t crack.

Wendy took her left hand, picked up her phone, aimed it down her body. You have me, she thought as she took the picture. Here I am.

“Goooood girl,” Janet drawled, and the phone lit up with her answer.

Wendy clenched on her finger, the gloved impalement she couldn’t quite think of as herself, couldn’t feel as anything but Janet.

It was Janet, dressed exactly as she’d been at the office, her dark blouse and her woolen skirt, but she’d unbuttoned her blouse. It hung open down her torso, revealing marble skin, the inner roundness of her cleavage. She’d taken off her bra, and though maybe Wendy had seen more of her breasts in the last picture she had sent, it was just something about seeing Janet that way. No bra between her and Wendy. Just the blouse to separate their touch. And if she slipped her hand under it…

Wendy stirred her middle finger inside herself, to sensations so sharp it seemed she could cut herself on them, and with her other hand she wrenched her own blouse open, she found the clasp between her breasts, she exposed herself shamelessly and flushed as if Janet could see her. The leather of her glove wasn’t cold anymore, it was warm; it was bottomless, it was a pool for the liquid heat filling her body. She was burning all over, but her finger was where it was centered. That was where she would explode.

“Would you like to see more?” Janet asked, her voice every bit as poised as it would be if she were at the head of the table in a conference room, as if her breasts weren’t rising and falling beneath an unbuttoned blouse, as if her bra wasn’t on the fucking floor.

“I would,” Wendy replied meekly.

“Because you could get off with one finger. Don’t you think I could get you off with one finger?”

“I want more.” Now Wendy’s voice was just a breath.

It was hard for her not to whimper as she acutely felt her ring finger on her pussy—not pressing any harder than before, but she knew it was going in next, she could feel her body’s hunger for it, a tightness inside her that was too much for just her middle finger. Her body arched unconsciously, the plush, expensive material of the mattress beneath her cradling her, and she was so attuned that she could hear the bedsprings as they tensed under her. Her ring finger dragged over her sex, already spread wide by her middle finger, the glove leather making it feel like it was someone else, like her hand was someone else’s, like the pleasure at the end of her fingers had to be connected to the voice on the phone that she was listening for so intently.

Both fingers centered inside her and she clenched on them so tightly that their presence felt huge, impossible, like she was spread wide open and filled full and laden with almost too much sensation to bear. Her other hand clawed at the phone, fumbling about the bedspread, finally picking it up and she could barely hold it with how her body trembled, tremors going through her body, the San Andreas Fault of her body finally opening after so long.

She took the picture and heard a distinct moan from Janet. She couldn’t even think that Janet was touching herself, just that she’d pleased her. That she’d given Janet something she wanted, because Janet wanted her.

Janet’s next message had her turned partly away from the camera, her skirt crimped up the backs of her thighs as she removed her panties, the side of one breast hanging below her bent torso. Jesus, had Janet hired a professional photographer to take her goddamn nudes?

Wendy brought her other hand down to her clit and rubbed it hard and slow, trying to force some calm into her body as she answered its need. Tension coiled in her belly, pulling tighter with each wet stroke, until the need forced her hips to cant, jerking against her own hand hungrily, third finger inside