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“Well…you always knew how to touch me …”
Her hands wrap around my bare foot, close and intimate. The rest of my body is heavy and relaxed, soaked in warmth. She’s kneading and massaging, taking control of all of me through the pressure on this most sensitive part.
She looks at me with those blue eyes, not bright and narrow and electric like Adrik’s, but large and soft and dark, like the ocean at night. Slowly, she lifts my foot to her mouth, running her tongue lightly across the underside of my toes, her tongue soft and wet and velvety.
“Yeah. I know what you like.”
She peels off my other sock, then tugs off my jeans, tossing them aside.
The thong I’m wearing is a soft peachy pink, the thin material clearly showing the outline of my pussy lips, the cleft between, and the wetness soaking through the material.
Ilsa touches the wet spot with her thumb.
“Yeah … same old Sabrina …”
I groan, shifting my hips slightly, pressing against the ball of her thumb.
Ilsa pulls my underwear to the side, looking at my pussy, the tip of her tongue slipping out to moisten her lower lip.
“You still have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen …”
She rubs her thumb lightly between my lips, spreading the wetness all the way up to my clit, rubbing slow circles around the nub.
Her hands are soft. They give me a floating, melting feeling. They remind me how soft I am, too … how relaxed I can be …
My thighs part. My pussy opens like a flower …
Ilsa brings her fingers to her lips, tasting me, licking my wetness off the ball of her thumb. Her lower lip glistens, full and red and ripe and delicious.
She slips her middle finger in her mouth, wetting it. Then she slides it inside me, just once, pushing it in and pulling it out with exquisite slowness.
I let out a long moan.
“You like that?” she murmurs.
“Yes …”
“Ask me to do it again.”
“Please … I need it …”
She pulls my thong down my legs, her fingertips tracing a long line from my hips to my ankles.
“Close your eyes,” she says.
I tilt my head back on the armrest of the couch, eyes closed, lips parted, taking slow, deep breaths.
I feel the cushions sink as Ilsa leans over me, her long, dark hair a curtain around my face. Softly, ever so softly, she strokes her fingertips on my pussy in a motion almost like tickling, but so much lighter.
“Relax …” she whispers.
My thighs are wide open, everything exposed. I’m not clenching, not squeezing. I don’t have to protect myself. I submit to the delicate sensation of her silky fingertips sliding over me, over and over, in soft, cascading raindrops. It’s warm and sensuous, never invasive, never too much. I can give in to it completely, I can let it carry me away …
“Your cheeks are flushed,” she murmurs.
Her warm breath is inches from my mouth. I feel it on my open lips. Even though my eyes are closed, I know Ilsa is watching my face, watching each gasp and flutter of my lashes. She loves watching me cum.
The orgasm spreads over me like warm liquid poured across my body. It diffuses down my limbs as I let out one long, wavering sigh.
