The tips of my fingers are fortunately still quite sensitive, and now they have touched the soft side of your face.The tips of my fingers are fortunately still quite sensitive, and now they have touched the soft side of your face. The contours of your skin are powdery, almost downy with their sweet softness. A razor, I think -- think of it as if you're holding a straight razor. The last thing I'd want to do to that effervescent skin is to damage it, so I remain particularly gentle and unassuming. The tips of my fingertips trail downwards, tracing the line of your jaw to your chin and back. Steady, steady. Now it's your throat, as your head tilts backward slightly, the thin edges of my nails adding a very slight point to this angel's massage. You are alabaster, and I marvel at the texture of your skin. It seems almost a sacrilege to let my stained, sweaty, calloused hands touch the miraculous surface of your body -- but then, a little sacrilegion never hurt anyone. I can keep this up for only a few minutes before my desire demands that I raise the stakes of the game. |