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Self-Scouting	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: Sailor Moon > General Views: 1060 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon or any of its related properties, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2: Splash Zone
-Fingering, M/F (discussed)

One weekend, Amy finished her homework ahead of schedule, so she decided to reward herself with something she didn’t get to do often: read for fun. She selected a romantic novel she’d overheard some of the other girls at school discussing. Clad in her pajamas for the night, she stretched out onto her bed with the book.
About halfway through the book, Amy understood why those girls had been discussing this book in such hushed tones. The heroine, a fairly average office lady, had spent the first quarter or third of the book pining for one of her coworkers, a salaryman with ambitions of starting his own gaming company, one to rival even the mighty Nintendo. The past few chapters had seen them go on a date to the arcade; kiss passionately outside her apartment; go on another, fancier dinner date; and afterward, rather than return to her apartment, check into a love hotel for the night. The book didn’t describe the proceedings in explicit, anatomical detail; but, unlike other books in this genre that Amy had read, it did follow the characters into the bedroom rather than “fade to black.”
Amy had had no difficulty losing herself in the character – shy, reserved, unable to form friendships easily, bookish – and the love hotel chapter was no exception. As was typical for the genre, the heroine had been a virgin until the most recent chapter, but she’d engaged with her lover with gusto. By the time Amy had finished the chapter, she felt as if one could see her blush from outer space.
Unbidden, an extremely awkward conversation with Mother surfaced from the depths of her memory. Mother had discussed the mechanics of sex, in rather clinical fashion apropos of her career as a doctor. She’d warned Amy that boys (or men) could distract her from her education or career.
Mother didn’t outright say so, but Amy inferred that she herself was the product of such a “distraction,” and that Mother didn’t want her daughter making the same mistake.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Amy tried to continue, to finish the book in one sitting, but she found herself completely unable to concentrate. The author’s soaring words about the joys of “becoming one” swirled in Amy’s mind. Could it really feel that good? she wondered, her blush returning in full force.
Maybe I can find out safely, she hypothesized. Maybe I could try… touching myself?
She reddened further at the idea, but her curiosity overcame her embarrassment.
Amy began running her hands all over her body, luxuriating in the silk’s soft texture against her skin. Her breath hitched as her hands brushed over her nipples, which proceeded to protrude through the fabric of her top. A soft sigh escaped her when she squeezed her breasts experimentally.
This certainly feels… hmmm… quite nice… I wonder what’ll happen if I do this –
Amy squeezed her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, drawing out a surprised yelp as pleasure splashed over consciousness. Good thing Mother’s out of town at a conference, she mused as the feeling ebbed. Nobody’s home to hear me.
An idea struck her: Or to see me. Blushing nonetheless, she peeled off her top, baring her perky B-cups crowned with dusky brown, pointy nipples.
As Amy resumed her explorations, her skin felt warm, almost feverish, beneath her fingers. The supple flesh of her modest breasts felt especially warm. The pebbled texture of the nipples surprised her, as did the sensitivity of the stiffened tips. Her breathing shifted into panting, punctuated with gasps and soft whimpers of pleasure.
Dimly, Amy became aware that her underwear felt uncomfortably damp. Without giving it too much thought, lest she chicken out, she pulled her pajama pants and panties down to her knees and kicked until they reached her ankles. Her knees splayed apart, granting access to her womanhood.
She held off on that for the moment, however. An avid swimmer even before she became Sailor Mercury, Amy had always had toned legs, which she now caressed appreciatively. Similarly, she had, in her estimation, a shapely rear, although she couldn’t readily access it from her current position lying on her back.
Amy’s hands, returning up her thighs, now traced her hips and lower belly. Other girls on the swim team, she’d overheard, trimmed down to a narrow strip or even shaved completely smooth to prevent embarrassing, unsightly hairs from protruding out of their swimsuits. Amy had never considered that before now; as her fingers ran through the thick, unkempt – yet surprisingly soft – hair of her groin, she decided she liked how it felt. Licking her lips in anticipation, she allowed her hand to continue lower.
At first contact, the fleshy folds of her sex felt soft, warm, and surprisingly slick. Her fingers began to glide more and more easily as the liquid coated them and the folds alike. I’d read that women’s bodies produce a great deal of lubrication when aroused, she marveled, but I had no idea it could be this much. I’m already soaking wet.
Curiosity seized Amy, so she reached into her nightstand for a small handheld mirror. With one hand, she held the mirror between her thighs; with the other, she splayed herself open, granting an unobstructed view of her privates. The whole area visibly glistened with wetness, including a noticeable nub of flesh at the apex, swollen and looking rather like an eraser.
The clitoris, Amy remembered from anatomy books. It’s supposed to be the most sensitive spot…
The merest brush confirmed that to be true, sending a powerful wave of pleasure all through her body and eliciting a surprised gasp from her. Almost of their own accord, her fingers began circling the sensitive nub. More waves of pleasure began washing over her, feeling better and better with each revolution of her fingers.
Amy’s breaths quickened, and soft mewls of delight began regularly escaping her lips. Before long, she noticed with some embarrassment the repetitive squishing sounds coming from between her thighs. She could also feel her wetness dripping out of her to coat her perineum and anus – a strange sensation, but one she wouldn’t let distract her.
As the pleasure built inside her, Amy set aside the mirror to lie back and focus on how good this felt. Her fingers sped up while gliding now along the full length of her sopping wet sex. On impulse, she began exploring the aperture, so slick that she could easily insert her index finger and thrust it back and forth along the textured inner walls. The wet squishing sounds intensified with each thrust.
Pressure built within her, like a dam on the verge of bursting. Amy found herself unable to hold back her moans any longer as the pleasure flooded through her. I can’t believe how warm and wet it feels inside me, she marveled. My finger went in so easily, and it feels so good. Why didn’t I ever try this before?
Just when the pressure felt like too much to endure further, the dam burst. Intense bliss, unlike anything Amy had ever imagined, crashed over her consciousness like a tsunami. Fluids spurted and gushed from inside her, coating her hand.
When her consciousness surfaced again from the deluge, Amy felt quite spent, as if she’d just swum in one of those long-distance open-water events from the Olympics. Her hand was drenched as she slipped her finger out of herself. Dazedly, she sat up a bit and gasped upon seeing the large wet spot on her sheets between her legs. Heat rose to her cheeks.
Oh dear… did I just… I think I just squirted! I thought squirting was a myth!
But I can’t deny the evidence coating my hand or sprayed all over the sheet… What a mess!
As she cleaned up – including putting the dampened bedsheet into the laundry – Amy once again thanked her lucky stars that she had the house to herself.
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A/N: Missed my update day, but here's chapter 2!
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Self-Scouting