Again, the oil ran in a cool trickle between my shoulder blades. His hands worked the unguent into my skin, rubbing, kneading, fanning across my back in firm, deliberate arcs. I could feel his fingers digging deep, through my muscles all the way to my bones, reminding me that those bones were delicate, birdlike, and easily broken; that I was, as always, at his mercy.
He moved from his position beside me on the bed to straddle my thighs, his naked cock resting in the cleft of my ass as his hands moved slowly, so slowly over my flesh. I purred as his thumbs beat away the tangles in my shoulders, mewed as the knots slowly dissolved under his touch. Then his fingertips were skating over my slicked skin, raising tiny hairs in welcome as they moved lower and lower along my spine. I caught my breath as he slid backwards and he slipped his hands between my legs, pushing my thighs wide apart.
But instead of his fingers plunging into my pussy as I’d achingly anticipated for the last hour, I felt another rivulet of oil flowing over my ass, dripping down my hot slit. And then his hands were moving on my skin again, not massaging, not teasing, not probing, but spreading, smoothing, greasing me all the way to my toes. He traced his way up and down the curves inside my legs, each time coming close, so close, but never reaching quite far enough.
I squirmed in frustration and pleasure, wanting—needing—a decidedly more focused attention. I hate to beg; he knows this. And so he waited, rubbing my feet with torturous tenderness as I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t see him, but I didn’t have to: I knew the satisfied smirk that played across his face too well. I resolved not to give in. Not this time.
But my determination didn’t last. When at last he’d tired of my toes he played his trump card, stretching his body on top of mine, his full weight pressing me into the bed. His chest was tucked into the curve of my neck; I could feel the hair on his chest plastered against my oily skin and feel his heart beating in line with mine. As he ran his hands up and down my sides, tracing the swell of my crushed breasts I bit my lip. And when finally he slid his knee between my slippery legs, adding the pressure of his thigh on my ass to the message his hard cock was sending to my cunt, I crumbled. I groaned. I whimpered.
And I begged.
“Good girl,” he said.
I have a naughty confession I must share with you. Every time I play with my pussy I have a strong urge to taste my fingers. I absolutely, positively love the way my pussy taste. It smells so good and the taste is sticky, sweet. It’s the best candy I’ve ever tasted. I was thinking about bottling my pussy juices and start selling it! I think I would be a millionaire because it taste that good! 
