{Author's Note: This first-person story was inspired by a stray, aggravated comment from a friend, who shall remain thankfully nameless--well, that, and she knows where I live...}
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Oh, god...I can't believe I woke up feeling this way! I can't believe I've suffered this incessant need ALL day! I tried everything this morning to ease this need in my panties. Rubbing, stroking, scratching--I took a shower and rubbed the soapy, slippery scrubby between my thighs for what felt like half an hour, trying to relieve this burning need. Trying to scratch this desperate itch deep inside!
How many different settings did I try on the shower massager? Geez...I don't know; spray, slow pulse, then fast and hard, and back again, all trying to get some sort of deep, intense relief. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
All I did was take the edge off for a little while, leveled the top, but within ten minutes of drying off, it was there again, mocking me, taunting me, climbing right back up to an unsurmountable peak.
Because of it, I debated, dress slacks for today, or nylons and a skirt? I chose the skirt, in the hopes that the lighter material covering my crotch would air out the dampness, maybe even dry up the need...but I wasn't that lucky. I squirmed in my car, shifting gears, changing lanes. I squirmed in my office chair, reading emails, typing reports.
I bit my lip through a meeting, then hurried off--no, I *escaped* to the ladies' room, as soon as it was through, and I did things with my fingers in there that shouldn't be done in an office bathroom stall. I touched myself over and over, each time I visited the loo, prodding and poking and seeking a finger-based relief, but it still wasn't enough. It was hard to stifle my moans and present a polished, professional faΓ§ade, and I was hungry for something that my lunch of chicken salad and a soda simply could not satisfy.