I was halfway through my macroeconomics class when I got the itch. It was not an itch that good Chinese girls like me were supposed to get, that tingling in my pussy as I felt it moisten. Shifting my weight, I crossed my legs and tried to type more notes on aggregate supply and demand. My fingers nervously pecked at the keys, desperately wanting to access the internet and head to my favorite sites. I was sitting in the back; no one would see or care if my fingers happened to brush my... cunt. That is what the stories I read always called it.
"According to the Keynesians, changes in the aggregate demand..." droned the professor.
Just a little peak, a tease, I promised myself as I started accessing the wireless network. I glanced around the lecture hall, most of the students were half asleep, no one was looking my way, and the professor was equally disheartened with her lecture, taking refuge in her notes. No one saw me as my hand slipped under my jeans and panties, feeling the sparse tuft of smooth dark hair, then sliding one delicate finger along my pussy lips, sucking in a little breath as I felt that familiar buzz.
I still remember the first time I masturbated, the first few tentative tickles giving way to frantic rubbing, the occasional gasp becoming deep moans. At first I kept looking at the door, afraid my mom would open the door and see her precious little girl doing such naughty things, but the more I stroked myself the more I needed to stroke myself, closing my eyes and letting my fingers dance around my clit with abandon. Soon my hand had found it's way to my budding breast and squeezed, and I felt the tension building. Then all that tension exploded in glorious orgasm. My back arched and I moaned like a madwomen, then collapsed, quaking slightly with my mouth hanging open, still in shock. I had known of such things only from hushed, giggle filled conversations with my friends, huddled around to share our most intimate thoughts. They had not done it justice. Soon I began to adventure online, dirty chat rooms (where I might have been the only real girl), story sites, always remaining anonymous. I loved the dirty feelings it brought up with in me, a release from my structured, clean, ambitious life. I explored farther and farther, until I got here, surrounded by peoples and still covertly touching myself.
"Supply siders, on the other hand, argue that..."