I slide my hands into her trousers over her underwear. I grasp her through the fabric. She gasps.
“Caressing,” she says. “Not grasping.”
So I caress.
With two fingers. Softly.
She rolls her hips ever so slightly against my touch.
She puts her legs up and opens them slightly.
“More pressure,” she says, and one of her legs falls to the side onto me.
I take my entire hand and press it in a rolling movement over her folds and clit.
She closes her eyes.
“I’d tell you to kiss my body,” she says, rolling her hips in symbiosis with my movement.
A shudder runs through me.
“I tell you to nibble my neck,” she continues.
“Like that?” I ask and softly bite the spot above her collarbone, where the neck begins, up to her ear.
“Exactly like that,” she says and moans slightly.
The sound she makes stirs something in my core.
“I’d tell you to slap me, softly,” she says.
And I have to grin. Slapping is something I know.
So, I slap her cherry. Softer than I usually would.
Once.
She shudders, and a grunt escapes her.
“More,” she says.
And I slap her again.
And again.
A louder moan, and my core tingles.
“Make me come with your fingers,” she says.
I slip her underwear aside.
Touching her without the fabric—mhhhhm. I desire her.
I caress over her lips down there with slight pressure, before I circle around her clit with my middle and ring fingers. Slowly. This is not a race to the end. It is the exploration of a world I do not know exists.
“Enter me,” she says in a breath. I prop my head back on my elbow. I want to see her, watch her when I do.
I circle my fingers to her entrance.
