There is a cloth covering your eyes. The oil is warm on your skin, pooling between your collarbones. Then my fingers dip in and sweep up your neck, into your hair. My palms press at your temples, just below each ear, then slide over your shoulders, down the outside of your arms, reducing your world to this moment and everything in it. Without sight, every other sense is heightened. You can hear my breathing, soft but deep. My touch is firm, confident, establishing our connection. I knead your shoulders, your forearms, loosen your wrists, your fingers. Then my hands leave you.
You are turned, onto your back. You feel more oil drizzled onto you, a line from your throat, between your breasts, to your belly button; it makes trails down your chest and flanks. I cup your breasts, feel your nipples stiffening into my palm. My hands shift, movement inspired by the shape of you, warming your breasts, circles around your belly. I feel your body soften, become heavy. My hands run down your thighs, almost to your knees, then back up, fingers spreading, trailing lightly over your mound. Over and over again, stoking the heat within you.
My fingers circle your ankles, gently opening your legs a little wider. I pour oil, up one leg, across your belly, down the other, then my hands are on your skin. Sweeping up and down your legs, fingers pressing into your calves, your thighs. I watch the way your skin moves ahead of my fingers, returns to its shape after they pass. My thumbs slide up the insides of your thighs and brush over your cunt lips, a little more firmly each time, until at last they stop. My fingers splay out over your mound, your pubic hair slicked with oil, as I massage your lips, opening them up, pressing them together, stroking them. They swell, blush.
The wave is nearing. The muscles in your belly twitch when I caress your cunt, the sound of your breathing changes, catches in your throat. One hand now presses on your mound as I tease the bud of your clitoris from its hood, circle it, press on it. I slide the length of my finger over it, feeling the difference between the oil and your moisture, spreading it over you. Smearing. Slicking.
My thumb circles your entrance, your hips rising to the tease, pushed back down by the weight of a hand that then moves over your belly to your breasts. The movement of my fingers on your nipples now mirrored by my fingers on your clitoris, tracing shapes on your most sensitive points. Then at last I push inside you, two fingers surrounded by the wet heat of your flesh, moving inside you, exploring the shape of you.
The wave claims you, lifts you. Now both hands are on your cunt, insistent, pressing against your lips, squeezing, thrusting, caressing. Fingers inside wriggling then reaching, stroking.
And then they leave you, and you feel them caressing your face, your scent filling your nostrils. They trace the shape of your lips, then dip inside, coating your tongue