Your eyes have recently opened and you're lying in bed as sleep releases your body, staring up at the ceiling as your mind slowly catches up.
She shifts gently. It's a movement you wouldn't have been aware of just a little while ago, but now it ushers in a company of sensations and realizations.
Just moments ago, you could have been in your bed alone, now you can feel just how close she is. Her bare breasts are soft and warm and pressed against your arm. The comforting weight of her head is on your shoulder.
She's there as if you've woken up with her there every morning for years.
Maybe you have.
Another thing dawns on you as the warmth of her body radiates against you, some strange ability to sense these things- a little like you're being watched...
you realize that she's awake.
As if on cue, her arm drapes itself over your body and her hand rests on your chest, her fingers splaying against your warm skin, somehow even warmer.
And in that voice that sounds as clear and as focused now as whenever she speaks to you, she greets you with a "good morning."
She always has a smile in her voice when she talks to you. It would be easy to see things coming if you could only hear it when she had something planned... when she planned on leading you through whatever pleased her to know pleased you. But she always sounds like she's planning something. Or you think she always sounds that way. Either way, it always leaves you a little thrilled.
Her fingers trace lazy designs against your chest, focusing your mind on the sensation of her skin against yours.
She sighs happily. "I'm so warm... See?" Her fingers stop moving against your chest and that sensation is suddenly replaced by another- her toes against the top of your foot. Warm, to you maybe almost hot, and soft, and wiggling softly and you can't stop the gentle shiver that tumbles down your spine.
She giggles. You've heard that sound before. You know she's surveying your body, your reactions, you wouldn't be surprised if she had taken note of how your heart is now beating a little faster.
"You love my feet."
She never poses these facts as questions, it would be silly to.
"The shape of my toes. Think about the shapes of my feet... When I pull my toes back... right before I press them against your face."
It's an image that you can't help but see. It's prominent in your mind when you masturbate. It's easy to see and she reminds you regularly enough by getting you into that exact position.
"Think about my bare soles. The undersides of my toes. You think they're so sexy."
Her hand travels along your chest and over your stomach. She has such a sense of pleasant ease about her, even, maybe especially, in these moments. Like you were programmed to respond to her touch and her voice and all of this is just as easy as pressing a button.
And even if you tried (and sometimes you do), you wouldn't manage to disprove any of it; you always eventually do just as she wants you to do: You sigh, or you laugh, or you groan, or you squirm, your penis erects, you ejaculate.
Now, though, you moan as her fingers encircle the base of your penis, the image of her bare feet still floating in your mind.
She's describing them to you. The shape of her feet, the softness, the way her toes move. All of it in detail.
And peppered in, these statements- "You love..." "So cute..." "Sexy..."
"You want them."
Her hand is stroking up and down your shaft, over the corona, against the frenulum. A few quick, playful strokes there, up and down over the corona before making the long stroke back down to the base.
The sound of her voice rings in your ears, your own breathy moans backing her words, confirming them.
It's like music. An erotic duet. One that will play as long as she likes and you will follow her notes and crescendo as she conducts you.
The end.
She shifts gently. It's a movement you wouldn't have been aware of just a little while ago, but now it ushers in a company of sensations and realizations.
Just moments ago, you could have been in your bed alone, now you can feel just how close she is. Her bare breasts are soft and warm and pressed against your arm. The comforting weight of her head is on your shoulder.
She's there as if you've woken up with her there every morning for years.
Maybe you have.
Another thing dawns on you as the warmth of her body radiates against you, some strange ability to sense these things- a little like you're being watched...
you realize that she's awake.
As if on cue, her arm drapes itself over your body and her hand rests on your chest, her fingers splaying against your warm skin, somehow even warmer.
And in that voice that sounds as clear and as focused now as whenever she speaks to you, she greets you with a "good morning."
She always has a smile in her voice when she talks to you. It would be easy to see things coming if you could only hear it when she had something planned... when she planned on leading you through whatever pleased her to know pleased you. But she always sounds like she's planning something. Or you think she always sounds that way. Either way, it always leaves you a little thrilled.
Her fingers trace lazy designs against your chest, focusing your mind on the sensation of her skin against yours.
She sighs happily. "I'm so warm... See?" Her fingers stop moving against your chest and that sensation is suddenly replaced by another- her toes against the top of your foot. Warm, to you maybe almost hot, and soft, and wiggling softly and you can't stop the gentle shiver that tumbles down your spine.
She giggles. You've heard that sound before. You know she's surveying your body, your reactions, you wouldn't be surprised if she had taken note of how your heart is now beating a little faster.
"You love my feet."
She never poses these facts as questions, it would be silly to.
"The shape of my toes. Think about the shapes of my feet... When I pull my toes back... right before I press them against your face."
It's an image that you can't help but see. It's prominent in your mind when you masturbate. It's easy to see and she reminds you regularly enough by getting you into that exact position.
"Think about my bare soles. The undersides of my toes. You think they're so sexy."
Her hand travels along your chest and over your stomach. She has such a sense of pleasant ease about her, even, maybe especially, in these moments. Like you were programmed to respond to her touch and her voice and all of this is just as easy as pressing a button.
And even if you tried (and sometimes you do), you wouldn't manage to disprove any of it; you always eventually do just as she wants you to do: You sigh, or you laugh, or you groan, or you squirm, your penis erects, you ejaculate.
Now, though, you moan as her fingers encircle the base of your penis, the image of her bare feet still floating in your mind.
She's describing them to you. The shape of her feet, the softness, the way her toes move. All of it in detail.
And peppered in, these statements- "You love..." "So cute..." "Sexy..."
"You want them."
Her hand is stroking up and down your shaft, over the corona, against the frenulum. A few quick, playful strokes there, up and down over the corona before making the long stroke back down to the base.
The sound of her voice rings in your ears, your own breathy moans backing her words, confirming them.
It's like music. An erotic duet. One that will play as long as she likes and you will follow her notes and crescendo as she conducts you.
The end.
