First Touch: A Wet Dream's Echo

The rain hammered against the roof of the sedan, a relentless, insistent rhythm that mirrored the frantic beat of my heart. Just a few months away from our wedding, we were clinging to the last vestiges of our youthful purity, a commitment forged in the fires of shared faith and mutual devotion. God had granted us strength, and we clung to it, desperately trying to navigate the treacherous currents of temptation. Yet, there was one moment, one lapse in judgment, that had burned itself into my memory, surfacing with alarming frequency during my solitary encounters with my own arousal. This was it – my number four, and a rather messy one at that.

The drive back from college stretched on endlessly, the endless ribbon of interstate blurring into a gray, rain-swept monotony. We were holding hands, lost in the comfortable rhythm of each other’s touch, a silent affirmation of the love that was blossoming between us. The future felt tangible, bright with the promise of a shared life, a sacred bond that we were determined to honor. But even the most devout can stumble, and we had fallen, spectacularly, into a moment of reckless abandon.

As I gripped her thigh, enjoying the subtle warmth radiating through her denim, I shifted my hand slightly upward, driven by an inexplicable urge. My fingers, long and sensitive, brushed against the delicate curve of her inner thigh. The thought of what lay beneath, the promise of the pleasure that awaited, sent a shiver of anticipation through me. I was acutely aware of how close my pinky finger was to her pussy, a thrilling realization that both exhilarated and terrified me. It was an absurd, inappropriate proximity, yet I couldn't pull my hand away. I was caught in a current of forbidden desire, a pull that felt both shameful and intensely satisfying.

The highway stretched ahead, a dark and empty expanse, offering no distractions from the escalating tension between us. I began to slowly, deliberately, edge my hand upward, inching closer and closer to the sensitive flesh beneath her jeans. My intention wasn’t malicious; it was simply an exploration, a desperate need to satisfy the burgeoning heat within me. I waited, anticipating her reaction, a silent plea for consent hanging in the air between us.

And then, she didn't push me away.

The realization hit me like a jolt of electricity, a surge of both surprise and relief. The world seemed to shrink, focusing solely on the impending intimacy between us. The next few minutes were a blur of sensation, a primal dance of longing and anticipation. My two smallest fingers found their mark, sinking into the welcoming warmth of her pussy. Her skin tingled, responding to my touch with a vibrant energy that both shocked and thrilled me. The rain continued its relentless assault on the car, but we were oblivious, lost in the moment.

As we drove, the silence grew thick with unspoken desire, broken only by the hum of the engine and the steady beat of our hearts. It was a strange, almost clinical intimacy, a shared secret known only to us. Neither of us spoke, unable to articulate the intensity of the experience, simply letting the touch speak for itself. The miles melted away as we continued our reckless journey, drawn deeper and deeper into the heart of our forbidden pleasure.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my hand slipped beneath her pants, my fingers finally meeting the wetness that awaited. It was a moment of both shame and ecstasy, a transgression against our vows that nonetheless felt undeniably right. She didn't resist, her body yielding to my touch with an almost desperate eagerness. Her eyes remained closed, lost in the pleasure, while I, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment, began to finger-fuck her with a fervent abandon.

Her hands instinctively sought my hand, clinging to it as if afraid to let go. A low moan escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. She convulsed with a gigantic orgasm, her body writhing in response to my touch. The violence of her release was shocking, both to her and to me. She was embarrassed by the intensity of her reaction, yet unable to pull away. I pushed gently on her outer pussy lips, reveling in their soft, wet texture, feeling an undeniable connection to her body. The world spun around me, blurring into a haze of sensation, as I lost myself completely in the moment.

The aftermath was as chaotic as the encounter itself. We didn’t know what to do, how to process the magnitude of what had just transpired. We simply sat there in stunned silence, the rain still drumming against the roof, the scent of arousal still lingering in the air. After a few minutes, I zipped up her pants, restoring a semblance of normalcy to our surroundings. The ride back to her apartment in Los Angeles was filled with awkward small talk, an attempt to bury the memory beneath layers of normalcy.

As we pulled up to her building, I felt an undeniable pull, an urge to return to the moment, to relive the experience once more. The rain had stopped, and the city lights twinkled in the distance, creating a romantic atmosphere. But there was no time for romance; we had a task at hand. We rushed inside, shedding our clothes with an eagerness that was both surprising and unsettling.

What followed was a chaotic, messy, and undeniably sexy experience. It wasn't a carefully orchestrated seduction, but rather a primal explosion of passion unleashed by a shared secret. We tumbled onto her bed, lost in the throes of our release, our bodies writhing in a frenzy of pleasure. The memory of that first touch, the reckless abandon of that night drive, remains vivid in my mind, a constant reminder of the power of forbidden desire.

And now, as I sit here years later, married to the woman I once thought of as untouchable, I can still feel the phantom sensation of my pinky finger brushing against her pussy. The thought brings a smile to my lips, a sense of satisfaction and a lingering thrill. It's a moment that continues to haunt my dreams, a testament to the enduring power of lust, desire, and the intoxicating allure of the forbidden. Even after all these years, I still get a jolt of excitement when I think about it. I've touched her pussy countless times since that night, and each time, it feels as fresh and exhilarating as the first. There's no denying the impact that this one moment had on my life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now, it’s your turn. What is your own erotic memory that you want to share?

Sex stories

First Touch: A Wet Dream's Echo

Did you like this story? First Touch: A Wet Dream's Echo look, but like these, here Sex stories.