Playing My Guitar For Self-pleasure

As Jane started to climb in she suddenly saw, out of the corner of her eye, a ghostly face peering at her through the rain-drenched windshield of the car behind her. 
 Chrissy.  
Of course.  She wouldn’t let a little thing like a downpour get in the way of finding out what she wanted to know.  Jane didn’t know what to do; she didn’t want to ask Mrs. But what was he doing?  He had taken his hands from behind her back and was running them up her thighs…now he was stroking between her legs with his thumbs, just above where his cock was inside her.  There seemed to be some little fleshy button there that Jane had never noticed before, and Peter was giving it a slow stroke, first with the pad of one thumb and then the other, with every squeeze she gave his cock.  Each stroke sent a wave of pleasure shuddering through her.  Her mouth fell open and her panties fell into their laps.