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The touch of her fingers against her hard nipples.
The rise and fall of her chest as she gasps for breath.
The rhythmic movement of her body, a dance I only know.
Her voice is soft and sensual, even though her words are not.
She is begging for release, needing it so desperately.
She claws at my chest.
She is stubborn.
She knows I am in control of this dance.
I am leading her. She tries again to take over, the slight shift of her hips.
I hold her still. My voice is firm and quiet. She knows what is allowed.
She squirms above me. Trying to hold back. The concentration in her eyes is visible.
I say those words in almost a whisper. I let her know that she has permission.
She thrashes around; her dance is jerky and awkward.
I have tried to teach her but there are some things she still needs to learn.
Her words are quiet and pleasing to me. She knows who’s leading this dance.
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