Touching is an art. She loves to be my canvas.
She was lying on the bed naked, legs slightly apart and arms by her side. Head on a pillow, resting quietly. Soft music played, more for her than to create an ambiance. She watched as I undid my sapphire blue silk tie. My hands gently raising her head as I wrapped my tie around her eyes twice, a sensual blindfold. She had closed her eyes. Enjoying the sensation of relying on other senses.
I softly spoke "There is only one rule. You are not to make a noise, not one sound. If you do I stop. Understand?"
She nodded. Good, she was fast on the uptake, that's what I liked about her.
"I promise you, the longer you are silent the better it will feel."
With that I began. I take her hand in mine. My fingertips tracing intricate symbols around her palm. Allowing my fingertips ever so light, to run over her wrist. Already her breathing changed and I noticed her soft downy hair rising on her abdomen.
She twitches as my fingers run over her inner elbow and up her inner arm. Running along her shoulders, tracing her tendons. I allowed myself the full touch of my palm on her shoulder, as if to reassure. Her head moving to nudge my hand in acknowledgement.
Keeping the right pressure, the right touch with just your fingertips requires dexterity. Prolonging the touch is an art. I traveled her torso, every inch of skin. Her delicate sides, the chest. The soft skin of the under-boob, circling the belly button. Teasing each nipple, tracing lines around the areola. The gentlest of touches on each nipple, each hardening in turn. Her breathing shallow, her chest rising with each sensual touch. Biting her lip to prevent even the smallest moan, knowing I would be true to my word and stop.
I trace down her outside leg to her feet. Here I am firmer. Her heel, soul and pad receiving the whole hand, wrapping around her foot, the gentle stroking of her toes in turn between thumb, index finger and middle finger, soothing caresses of the toes.
Across her ankle, fingertips again, circling the joint. My hand stroking her calf muscles on both legs. Back to fingertips under the knee. Her legs moving apart to permit me higher, perhaps signalling her wants.
I slow, incredibly slow. My fingertips barely touching her inner thigh, slow, so slow. Her breathing is rapid and loud, her mouth open. Her body is arching up, boobs firm and nipples hard. The tendons on her neck, taunt. I know she is close. Her labia, engorged, pink, already blooming without my intervention. The spot of sticky clear liquid holding the two outer lips.
