My palms cupped my  breasts 

A perfect, round swell filled my hands. My thumbs brushed over stiff, eager nipples poking against my bikini top. A shuddering moan escaped me.

“Feel your titties” 

Mistress Psyche said 

“Feel the softness. Feel the curve and the shape “ 

I squeezed. The firmness pushed back against my fingers. I traced the heavy undercurve, then slid my hands up, feeling the smooth slope. My own breathing grew quicker. 

“Now… Touch your stomach. Your hips. Feel the soft feminine curves ”

My hands slid down my torso. My stomach felt taut, smooth. My hips  wider, my palms riding the feminine sensual curve. 

The journey was a slow, worshipful caress, the skin tingled with heightened sensitivity.

“And now,” she said. “The bikini bottom. Touch over it. Feel the wet heat soaking through that tiny pink fabric.”

My right hand drifted lower, trembling. My fingertips brushed over my pelvis, where the sensation of a scant, damp cloth was overwhelming. The moisture was real—a slick, warm patch against my actual panties. I pressed gently. The pressure sent a bolt straight to my core. I cried out 

“Your pussy is wet” 

 Mistress Psyche said 

“Push the fabric aside. Touch your bare, shaved swollen wet flesh.”

.I pushed the tiny pink scrap aside. My fingertips met slick, fevered skin. The fold was soft, swollen, and drenched. My own actual wetness was there, mirroring the phantom sensation, amplifying it . 

I traced the soaked seam. My middle finger slid along my parted lips, finding the throbbing clit. A violent tremble rocked my legs. My head fell back.

“Circle your clit,” Mistress “Slowly. Feel how hard and excited it id ”

I obeyed. My fingertip found the rigid, aching pearl. I circled it, a slow, slick orbit. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, radiated out in waves. My hips began to rock, a helplessly against the softness of my bed