The oil, in a slow drop by drop, dripped onto her left shoulder, and rolled down her chest, and ever so slowly over her breast, each rivulet an exquisite stimulation, more so when a stream chanced upon that distended center. Her eyes closed in pleasure, her mouth slack, jaw relaxed as she savored the feeling. She sat naked on her haunches, as if to straddle a lover, her curved hips and taut core a vision of perfection, twitching ever so slightly in response to the ministrations. The blindfold of silk, shiny like her hair in the light from the nearby candles, covered her gorgeous eyes. Deprived of her sight except for flickers of orange, her other senses seemed enhanced. Touch was the most important, this moment only the first of many to come. Hearing, next. His breathing had changed. Still quick as when he had come upon her, but of a different timbre now, not merely the rush this beautiful maiden's psychic call, but of anticipation. From each new angle he viewed her, and there came ideas and yearnings, each more pointed than the last. That lover, summoned from her darkest desires, had yet to touch her save to bind her hands behind her, as he was instructed. He was behind her on a knee, holding the bottle above her. His nearness, his warmth, was electric, like a current passing between them.
He switched sides, repeating the dripping, but first lifting her hair firmly, bunched, tilting her head aside and allowing the drips to cascade down her slender neck, and onto more sensitive parts below. His hand, still wrapped in her locks, tugged farther gently, insistent and he put his lips to her sensitive ear. Ever so close, but not touching, she could hear and feel his breath, hot and powerful, the wet sounds of his mouth as it moved as if to bite but pulled back to the slightest touch of lip and tongue.
