Chapter 131
VIII.
“I’m back.”
Jaha muttered the words without thinking, then startled herself.
Back?
She had fallen asleep in her own bed and just woken up in that same bed—where exactly had she gone and returned from? It made no sense why she’d blurt out something so absurd.
The heavy weight pressing on her chest, the tears spilling uncontrollably as if her tear ducts had broken—none of it made any sense. The only thing clear was the cold sweat drenching her body, proof that last night’s nightmare had been especially vicious.
She couldn’t even remember what it had been about, but given how her trembling still hadn’t subsided, it must have been horrifying. At this point, ignorance really was bliss.
Trying to calm down, Jaha slowly scanned the room.
It was the same sight as always, yet for some reason, it felt strangely foreign, as if she’d just returned from a long journey—flooded with nostalgia, discomfort, and relief. But the sentiment didn’t last long. Unable to shake off the unease, she shivered and climbed out of bed. Her body, the sheets, even the pillowcase—everything was soaked in cold sweat.
“Ugh, gross. Now I have to wash everything.”
She grumbled, grabbing fresh clothes and a towel before heading to the bathroom.
Under the warm, soothing water, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Normally, she’d have glanced away indifferently, but for some reason, the face staring back felt unsettlingly unfamiliar.
Was my body always like this?
Jaha cautiously touched her own chest. She had never particularly disliked her figure. She had never once wished for bigger b*****s. But now, something felt… missing. As if they had once been so full they could overflow her hands, only to shrink.
“Why does this feel so unfamiliar?”
Maybe it was because she was hyper-aware now, but even her n*****s felt strange. She had never paid them much attention before, but suddenly, their color stood out—had they always been this small? For some reason, she felt like they should have been larger, thicker.
Then again, she had never really examined them closely. It wasn’t like her face, something she saw every day. This was a part of her body she had always been too shy to scrutinize.
Had she really been this indifferent to her own flesh?
Almost mechanically, Jaha rubbed her n****e with her finger—not out of any lewd intent, just… checking. But the moment her thumb brushed over it, a jolt of electricity shot down her spine, as if every cell in her body had woken up at once.
“Hah—!”
The sound that escaped her mouth startled her.
What the hell was that noise?! It sounded like something straight out of a cheap porno, the kind of moan an actress would make. And yet, she couldn’t stop touching herself.
Something was… wrong. The more she stimulated her n****e, the more an inexplicable shiver ran down her back, and a slow, smoldering warmth pooled in her lower stomach.
“Nnh… Mm…”
Following instinct, she kept rubbing, pinching, pulling, pressing—yet it wasn’t enough. She was thirsty for something she couldn’t name.
Not enough. It has to be a different kind of touch. Bigger, warmer, firmer.
Frustrated for reasons she couldn’t explain, Jaha squirmed, unsure what to do—until her other hand drifted downward. Between her clenched thighs, she slid a single finger inside, stroking a place she had never touched except to wash.
A slick wetness coated her fingertip—thicker than water.
I don’t have any experience, but I’m not so naive that I don’t know what this is. If a grown adult didn’t know, it wouldn’t be innocence—it’d be a problem. But since it was my first time, I wasn’t entirely sure.
Is it really what I’m thinking?
With her other hand still touching her n****e, Jaha sniffed the scent. There wasn’t any particular smell. But when she pressed and pulled her thumb away, it stretched thin like a thread. She wondered if it was discharge, but it wasn’t that either.
For just touching my n****e, this is… Even though no one was watching, she felt embarrassed. In porn, women moaned from just about anything, but that was acting. She vaguely remembered reading somewhere that over half of women never experience an o****m in their lifetime.
Am I on the sensitive side?
Hesitating, Jaha slid her hand back between her thighs. The moment her trembling finger touched the most sensitive bump, it felt like electricity surged through her.
As she gently rolled her fingertip over it, her body shuddered on its own. Her legs nearly gave out, so she sat on the edge of the bathtub and began properly stroking both her n****e and c**t.
“Haah… Ah, ngh…”
Half lost in the sensation, her hips and thighs tensed as a tingling pleasure washed over her.
Dazed and weak, Jaha finally snapped out of it and finished her shower.
After that, she m*********d often. When her parents weren’t home, she spent time alone in bed, over and over. Yet, the feeling of something being missing never went away.
This can’t be all. There must be more pleasure than this.
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