Incest For women -Immersive sex story

[Naruto411]

You wake up slowly, the light streaming through the curtains coaxing you into awareness. The sheets cling to your body, sliding down as you shift. Your camisole—thin, teasing, almost indecent—cups your curves, your nipples already hard against the fabric. Every movement reminds you how little it leaves to the imagination.

That slut inside you stirs, whispering in your mind. "Feel it. Feel how your body aches to be touched, even now, first thing in the morning. Touch yourself through the fabric, tease those stiff peaks with your fingertips."

Your legs stretch out, your thighs brushing together, the softness of your skin igniting sparks of sensation. There’s a damp heat blooming low between your legs as you roll out of bed. The camisole slides against your breasts with every step toward the bathroom, the weight of them swaying slightly, a silent, sensual rhythm only you can feel.

The mirror catches your eye. You pause, leaning in, letting your heavy breasts press against the cold countertop. You watch yourself—your lips parted, cheeks flushed, your hair wild from sleep. The sight makes your core tighten, a quiet ache demanding attention.

The slut in you whispers again. "Don’t just look at yourself—see yourself. See how those breasts rise and fall, how your nipples stand out so boldly. Cup them. Pinch them. Let yourself feel how hard they’ve become."

You pick up your toothbrush, trying to ground yourself, but even the act of brushing feels charged. The bristles scbang your tongue, mint flooding your senses, your lips curling around the handle. You know what you look like, and it’s enough to make your thighs press together involuntarily.

The shower waits, a tantalizing escape. You strip off the camisole and step into the cold spray. It shocks you at first, a sharp jolt as the water streams over your skin. You gasp, the droplets racing down your body, tracing every curve. Your nipples harden even more under the icy touch.

The water warms, steam rising around you. Your hands reach for the soap, lathering it until your palms are slick with foam. The slut in you purrs. "Start at your shoulders. Let the lather slide down, over your chest. Feel the softness of your breasts, the way your fingers sink into them. Don’t rush. Take your time. They deserve it."

You follow her command. Your hands move over your skin, spreading the soap, teasing your nipples with slow, deliberate circles. The friction sends a jolt straight to your core, and a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"Don’t be shy," that voice urges. "This is your body. It’s yours to explore, yours to worship. Imagine my hands there if you like. Imagine anything, as long as you don’t stop."

The water streams over you, washing away the soap but leaving the heat. Your hands slide lower, over the swell of your hips, your fingers tracing every curve, every dip. Your breath catches as your fingertips brush just below your stomach, teasing the edge of something deeper.

"You’re alive in this moment," the slut inside you hums, satisfied. "You’re alive, and you’re everything. Now show yourself what that means."

The story doesn’t stop here—it’s only just begun. But right now, let your hands take over. Let the water, the warmth, and that voice inside you drown out everything else.