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Embarking
It must be a delicious feeling -- to have hands like your own, soft, and gentle, stealing over your bare skin. Fingers that tease, push, prodding, poke. Caresses that melt away your resistance, your barriers, slipping your clothes from you. You reach out for their forms, to reciprocate the pleasure you feel, find your hands gliding over curves like your own, feeling the ridges and the valleys in skin like you have many times yourself. Their whispers float up to you, single syllables, repeated over and over, like a mantra and you press yourself into their hands. They find you fascinating, and they tell you again and again, touching you to see when you moan, coinciding their caress with your aches. You are flushed, sweating with desire. You gasp as they separate your labia, the touch of strangers, no, new friends, in where your touch had once prevailed. Delight nearly drives you wild as their rough fingernails spread you, and only after eons of sweet teasing, does the licking begin...