Your body has become accustomed to my touch. It relaxes under my hands
as I position you. Feathery fingertips now bring sighs instead of
giggles.
Your skin glows in the flickering candlelight as I kneel astride your
hips where you lie prone upon the sheets. Lightly, I brush the silken
strands of your golden hair from your face and you smile contentedly.
Such trust, from one who seems so small and fragile beneath my brutish
bulk, is impossible to fathom, but my heart swells within my chest at
the knowledge of its existence.
Leaning forward, I trail the tip of my tongue lightly around the
delicate curve of your upturned ear. A gentle nip at the fragile shell
sends shivers down your spine.
I am attuned to you now. I can read every nuance of your body’s
reaction to my touch.
Warm, soft, dry kisses down the side of your neck – your head falls
forward exposing more of the graceful curve to my ministrations. Your
sighs are soft and expectant.
I draw a tender fold of flesh into my mouth and suckle on it, biting
softly before I move onward. You shiver and moan.
Starting at the base of your neck, using only the tip of my moist,
stiffened tongue, I seek out the tiny knots that the day’s stress has
left beneath the velvet skin of your back.
For half an hour or more, following with my hands to dry your skin,
lest evaporation chill you, I search out and massage away each tense
little bump, every taut strand. My tongue aches with fatigue by the
time I have reached the little dimples at the top of your buttocks,
and I switch to my hands.
Every muscle in your body seems to have melted, and the firm, rounded
globes that I love following up the stairs, now feel almost gelatinous
in my hands.
I shift to the side and gently spread your docile, boneless legs. A
heavenly aroma wafts upward from their juncture, and moisture seeps
into the sheets.
Taking the oil from its resting place above the candle, I work my way
down your thigh, taking my time. I avoid the moist crevice that
beckons me, only coming close enough to hint at what’s to come. When
your thighs have yielded up the last vestiges of tension, I move
gently on to your calves, taking care not to apply too much pressure,
as I know how sensitive those muscles are for you.
Your feet are the key to your soul. I work them with oiled hands for
at least a quarter hour, each, and your sighs and moans speak to me of
the opening of forbidden places within you.
At last, I cross your ankles and turn you to your back. Your arms flop
bonelessly to the side.
Once more I put my mouth to work. This time, however, my purpose is
more feral. I ravage the length of your neck with savage kisses and
little bites. I nibble around the line of your jaw.
I know the places that ignite your passion and exploit them
mercilessly.
My tongue delves deeply into the hollow of your throat, and your hips
rise rhythmically from the mattress. Your sounds are wilder, more
guttural now.
Working with lips and teeth I trace the outer edges of your precious,
exquisitely small breasts. Your cries become more strident and you
seek to guide my head, my mouth, with your tiny, fragile hands. I am
on a mission, though, and will not be deterred. Frustration colors
your cries, and your pelvis thrusts itself upon an unseen lover.
Your rock-hard nipples must wait. I know how sensitive they are, how
they cry out for my tongue and my teeth, but first there is the soft,
sweet mound around and beneath.
Sucking, tonguing, nibbling, I minister to first one succulent
hillock, then the other. The muscles in your abdomen tighten and as
your pelvis vibrates, I stop. Only my hands are touching you – soft,
broad strokes to calm and relax.
The moment passes and I begin again, swooping down to inhale an entire
breast. My tongue swirls around the tender morsel, playing with the
hard, rubbery tip. Your back arches, and a sharp cry escapes your
lovely lips.
Using only my teeth, I swiftly capture the nipple of the other breast,
covering the first with my hand.
Quck, sharp nips upon the sensitive nubbin send electric shocks up
your spine. Your legs fly apart as your sweet pussy seeks its
invisible lover, oscillating rapidly in the air.
Once more I stop. You cry out in frustration at the sudden cessation
of sensation.
When you have retreated from the precipice, I begin again, working my
way orally down the gentle curves of your belly, pausing to pay homage
to the wide depression of your bejeweled navel.
Your hands roam freely through my hair and urge me southward as the
pitch of your song rises.
Almost there, I now combat my own urgency. With superhuman will, I
force myself to moderate my pace.
My tongue seeks out the softest, most tender flesh of your body,
delving into the creases between thigh and labia – feathery touches
that have you quivering with anticipation. Your cries have ceased and
you seem to have stopped breathing as you wait for what is next to
come.
Your legs have opened obscenely wide to give me free access to the
prize, but I take my time. Lapping like a little dog at his water
bowl, my tongue travels from the very top of your fragrant cleft,
slowly parting the moistened folds.
The tiny, rigid bud of your little sentinel comes to attention as my
tongue approaches. Your breath rasps through your mouth and tiny
whimpers punctuate the rushing of the air.
Pausing, I gently spread your slimy folds and slowly probe with a
single upturned finger for the rough little patch of flesh just inside
your tunnel. When your tube clamps down on my exploring digit, and
your hips ratchet against my face to the tune of your indrawn breath,
I know I’m in the right place.
My tongue resumes its journey, now laving gently at the tender tissues
beneath it – worshipping your most sacred flesh.
I toy with the idea of more teasing, but decide against it.
As your impassioned cries escalate, I flick the tip of my tongue
rapidly over the hard little nubbin hiding in your crease, and run my
finger across your G-spot.
In mere seconds, your pelvis slams quickly against my mouth, two,
three, four times, before your body locks rigid, buttocks a foot or
more off the bed. Your keening cry is almost ultrasonic as orgasmic
spasms rock your mind and soul.
You collapse bonelessly to the mattress, still jerking periodically
with aftershocks. I spoon my body to yours and pull the covers up.
As the lights go out, you murmur sleepily, “What about you?”
Kissing you lightly on the cheek, I reply, “Tomorrow.”
Before I’ve finished saying the word, you’re snoring daintily into the
darkness.