The Never Ending Story
Act three
She lay the empty wine glass down on the ground and he quickly joined it with his own and with the recorked bottle .
She kept her eyes on the top of his thighs as he bent down and then straightened back up and the orchestra of movement sent chills to curl her toes. When she could feel his gaze on her once more she began to wave her slender arms - fingers wide apart and extended like soft undersea plants moving in the swells and ebbs of tidal waters. She knew that he was noticing each movement, for that's what he did - it was his essence to observe and enjoy. It was what made them such a perfect fit - she liked to be watched and admired and lusted for and it was his pleasure to do those things. Gradually her weaving fingertips found the full nipples pushing against her soft dress and they circled and caressed each hard budding nerve centre at the top of her soft smooth breasts.
As she pinched gently and pulled softly at the sensitive tips, she kept her eyes on his ass cheeks under his tight black bikini briefs. She didn't know how he did it but his cheeks tightened and relaxed in tune with her breathing, as though they were somehow connected through the beam of vision. When she felt the warmth from her innermost places begin to move like a force field towards freedom she moved her fingers to the buttons on her dress and as she released them, her breasts pushed the material away. Her back arched when the breeze cooled her soft skin and his eyes set it ablaze once more. Her fingers moved the remaining folds of the dress away leaving her naked save for her lemon lace panties. She watched him as he lowered himself until her head was cradled by those thighs and the strength and softness of his upper legs relaxed and pressured her temples like that old office neck rub from so long ago.
He lightly pulled her into a sitting position by her arms and held her while he removed the dress from her shoulders. She leaned her head back and kissed his ear and his neck while his firm fingers danced across her ribs and gently leaped over her breasts with only a light grazing of her nipples. He held her against his chest. She wished she had a mirror wished she could see once again that vision of his hands on her body while he stood behind her. But his stiffness against the small of her back drew her toward him, that - and the sharp delicious sense of his fingernails lightly dragging across her tender nipples. Almost unconsciously, as the heat waves bathed her insides and raged ever onward towards release, her thighs opened and raised and her own hands betrayed her. That was another of his favourites and was becoming one of her own. All those years her masturbation had been basic, just lust, but he was beginning to get her to appreciate the potential romance between her fingers and her own skin. She knew now that she didn't have to just grab her own clit and wrestle it into climax. She had learned to take her time, to discover other senses and places to touch, to move slooooowwwwwer. She had learned that he loved to watch her fingers on her body and she had learned it one night in a chair where she sat blindfolded.
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