First, I undress you. I lift your dress over your head, gently, so as not to muss your hair. Carefully, I fold up your dress, and place it gently on a bureau.
I turn you around, guiding you softly with my hands. My touch is at once firm and light, inviting you to turn in the direction I’m guiding, conveying my expectation you will turn, but, at the same time, leaving the actual turning to you, my hands not just guiding, but also accompanying you as you turn.
When your back is to me, I trace the outline of the strap of your bra along your back. I sneak a finger just slightly under the strap, assessing how loose the strap is, how much play it gives me. I want the bra’s unclasping to be imperceptible to you, so my knowledge of the precise tightness of the bra is essential as I smoothly disengage the two hooks and clasps. And, like that, your breasts feel free, the bra no longer pulling them against your chest, and I gently help the straps over your shoulders so you can be free of the bra entirely.
Once again, I turn you, in the same direction I first turned you, until you’ve turned full-circle, and face me.
“Close your eyes,” I say. And you do.
You stand before me, your pretty, pretty body exposed, wearing only a pair of lacy panties. I guide you to open your legs a bit, and you take half a step sideways with one leg.
My right hand strokes your ass gently, gently. I close my palm just a little, not so much grabbing as suggesting the sensation of being grabbed. I relax my hand open, and resume the soft, soft caress of the round curve of your pale ass. I trace a line up the side of your body, over your hip, past your ribs, up to your collarbone. I trace a finger along the collarbone and open my hand so you can feel the notch between my thumb and my forefinger find its most comfortable spot at your throat. My hand rests there, again, gently, firmly, the sensation produced far more by your head than by my hand.
And I lower my hand, caressing my way down, down, down. Past your collarbone to the rise of your breast, further, to your nipple. I trace a few light circles around your nipple – it’s hard – and then slide down further, under your breast, touching the crease that sits under your breast, where it meets your torso.
And then, further, further. My hand slides down your rib, and back, just a little, so I’m cupping your pretty, pretty ass. I bring my hand around to the front of your thigh, invert it, and slide it down your thigh, down the inside of your thigh, toward your knee. My touch is very, very light, almost a tickle, just firm enough not to be.
When I reach your knee, I jump my hand across to the other knee, touching it softly and sliding my hand back, around, to the back of your knee. And then I begin to trace my hand up. Up the inside of your thigh toward your cunt. Your cunt which is, by now, oh so ready for my hand.
But my hand isn’t ready for your cunt.
Up I slide, gripping your thigh increasingly tightly as I climb, culminating in a tight grip of your inner thigh just before I brush against your panties. (Are they wet yet? I can’t tell. I’m not touching them. I am, however, close enough to feel how fucking hot your pussy is. It’s radiating heat powerfully.)
I raise my hand, now, slowly, lightly, just brushing against the elastic of your panties in your crotch, tracing the line of the elastic back, up toward your ass, and forward again, back toward your cunt. I press the ridge of my hand oh so gently against your panties, just for a moment. Yes, you are wet.
Very, very wet.
I turn my hand and as I press the top of it, the length of my index finger, up into the crease of your slit, through your panties, just a little, I press with the pad of my thumb against your clit, also through the wet fabric. Lightly. Lightly. You arch your back, thrust your hips – and your pussy – toward me, but I withdraw as you thrust, maintaining steady, even, gentle pressure.
I ease up, tracing again. I slide a finger along, under, the elastic, and slide it -just barely making contact – along the lips of your pussy. I brush up, back, forward, collecting your wetness, but not entering, or even pressing against, your cunt.
I pull your panties down, outward, to make more space for me as I tease your pussy. I slide my index finger up, up, toward your clit and spread your lips softly so I can confirm where it is. That’s all I do – confirm where your clit is, and after I make just a moment’s contact, I pull my hand away again, down, to your lips, where, again, I lightly trace the length of them.
Your breathing is growing heavier.
Your hips are moving insistently toward me.
I’m having so much fun.