The Reverend took her hand and stopped her. He pressed her against the bed and rose to his knees, leaned forward and kissed her. It was a deep kiss and the force of it pushed her head into the pillow. He did not kiss her with unbridled passion, there was no frenzy to his tongue; it was long, slow, and deep, a kiss that came not from his penis but from his heart. She needed attention, the loving ministrations of his hands, the caresses of his heart. It was her body that was striped from the whip and he wondered what wounds bled in her soul.
He took the baby oil and the strong yet gentle touch of his fingers touched her. He kissed her face and cheeks, blotting up the tears that had dried there. His hands stroked her neck and under her chin. He moved to her shoulders, her breasts, and across her stomach. His hands ran along her sides and he stroked her body with an intentness that flowed from his heart to his hands. She cooed and gurgled as the air escaped from her lungs. He returned to those spots that elicited sounds, touching and massaging her, listening for the moans and sighs. He was thrilled at how sensitive she was. He had massaged cold lumps of flesh far too often, but she, under his fingers, danced.
His hand now moved towards her pelvis and she arched her back as it approached. He marveled at her belly button ring and flicked it back and forth with his forefinger and wondered that he had not noticed it before. It was a strange place for a piercing and he pressed his fingers into the tight knot and twirled the ring with his finger. He had never studied one before, at least in person, and after a few moments of teasing and toying with it and listening to her moans, he decided that it was sexy after all.
Into his hand, he squirted a large puddle of oil and held it for a moment to warm it. He placed his palm below her piercing and began to rub her solar plexus. He massaged her in a circular movement, slowly moving lower and onto her hips. She instinctively spread her legs and opened herself to him. Closer and closer his fingers approached and the Reverend stared intently at her vagina. She was completely shaved and he took in her beauty. "It is really a delightful body part," the Reverend thought to himself and he looked at the overlapping folds and to the spot where her clitoris was hiding.
She began writhing on the bed, and started to scoot herself forward. If his hand would not go any lower, then she would go higher. He spread the oil evenly and began the trek down her thighs, trailing his fingers across her tender inner thighs. He dipped his finger into the reservoir of oil that had pooled in her belly button and retraced his movements. Again and again his hand traveled down, deeper and deeper between her thighs. He traced the crevice where her inner thigh met her vagina. His fingers pushed deeply along this line, pressing the contours. She opened her legs wider; she wanted to feel his fingers inside her, her clitoris, still hidden beneath the folds, flared in passion.
He wavered, unsure whether to proceed. She was ready, of this there was no doubt. She lay flopping like a fish in a boat, her skin glistened with the oils and moisture gathered at her entrance. He waited. Then he moved lower on the bed and kneeled between her legs. He lowered his head just inches from her vagina, drew in a deep breath of air and pursing his lips he blew a stream of warm air at her opening. She gurgled as his breath struck her and she involuntarily clenched her vaginal muscles. Her lips opened and closed like a clam searching for food on the ocean floor. He drew in another breath and shot another stream of air. Her lips began to drool and his warm air sent shock waves through her body. The sensation was so subtle and yet so powerful, like the blowing of air against your flesh in a sauna.
