“Oh God, don’t stop now,” I thought. Quickly, before the hand disappeared, I grasped my nightie with one hand and pulled it right up above my waist, while simultaneously bending my knees slightly to allow the hand to climb higher. To my delight, it did, moving up over the really sensitive flesh at the top of my inner thighs. The anticipation was almost unbearable. Then at last I felt the fingers reach their goal, the spot where my bare thighs met; where the opening of my wet slit lay between the folds of my labia. Gently the fingers rubbed at the entrance to my slit, sliding up and down it. I felt myself starting to tremble even more, wanting the fingers to go further, but sensing that I shouldn’t speak or try to guide them. That wasn’t part of the game. But I gently slid one foot sideways across the floor of the wardrobe to spread my legs slightly, making access easier. I couldn’t help thinking that at any moment the seeker might come into the room, open the wardrobe, and spoil. Dinner was warm on the stove, but I knew that I would probably have to reheat it. No way would I delay the ultimate physical pleasure for simple nourishment. I knew I should feed him first, but the throbbing in my nether regions would probably not be denied. I hoped he wasn't hungry.I checked the time; he wasn't late. No telling my body that, though! As I sat in the sofa, I squeezed my thighs together, trying fruitlessly to calm the pulsing at their juncture.What was taking so long? How dare he call from the office and describe in explicit detail the ways and means that he would use to bring me to orgasm, then take his own sweet time in getting here? The imp on my shoulder was beginning to whisper that maybe it would be better if he was hungry. After all, an hour or so of hunger pangs was light punishment for the two hours of aching need that I'd endured since his oh so sensual phone call. Just then, I heard the car pull up outside. I hastily made my way to the front door, yanked it.
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