My hand disappears up her skirt. Her eyes look at me full of eager anticipation and worry. It’s not hard to tell where her clitoris will be through her tights. I make a gap between her labia with my index and middle finger, and with the tip of my thumb, I give a downward stroke to the sensitive bulb. She shudders and smiles, excited by my dangerous hand right up against her vulnerability. Then it snatches her engorged clitoris in a hard pinch. A mix of arousal and betrayal comes over her face as she throbs between my knuckle and thumb.
“Please let go, it hurts!” She shudders as she grasps my forearm.
“Kiss me.” I say as I use it to pull her into me.
Our lips touch, and I release her womanhood. She lifts up onto her knees and rests her crotch on my knee, gliding up and down my thigh as she grasps my face.
“Please, please! It’s been so long!” She begs.
“Okay, okay. Get down and put your knees apart.”
She does as she is instructed. My hand disappears up her skirt again and finds its way back to the same spot. It holds her clitoris in the same position, not tightly, but firm enough to be a reminder.