A Masterful Touch

by Debi Yoachum

“Oh God, I don’t think I’ve ever felt such deep thrills flowing through the entirety of my being as you massage, knead, and mold me with your deeply intuitive, knowing hands.

Oh yes baby, that’s it, right there, that’s the spot… oh yes, there too, yes! Please keep going, Please! I’m losing myself in your touch and I want to. Yes, yes, you’re caressing every single inch of me, and missing nothing. Nothing!

I can do nothing but abandon myself to you. And I want to. Oh, yes, I want to! I want to surrender. I feel your devotion to me and only me in this moment and it is sublime. I am yours, make and take of me what you will.

Mon Dieu, how did you manage to flip me over so expertly and gently that I hardly knew it was happening? Oooooooooooh… You are a master. Your touch is firm and knowing, yet more tender than the wings of a butterfly gently touching ever so lightly on a delicate flower.

What is that sensation? What is that warm silken slippery sensation I have of being completely filled, and expansive beyond my wildest dreams, what is it? And the intoxicating smells mingling all around and through me… I don’t care anymore, just Please don’t stop, fill me with all of it, all that you have, I want it ALL!

I feel myself begin to rise to meet you and I am unable to resist anything but the delicious sensations filling me, yes, filling every nook and cranny, every nuance of my being. I must be in a trance; I cannot believe the luxuriousness of what you are doing to me, with me.

It’s getting hot in here, OH… OOOOH it’s getting SO HOT! I don’t know how much more of this I can stand. And I am powerless to stop. Sweet torture…and I don’t know that I want it to stop.

What is this? Suddenly a rush of cool air - the sensations swirling through me are indescribable as I am taken to the hottest point and suddenly jolted by the coolest of air. Breathtaking in the extreme yet pleasurable beyond anything I imagined possible.

I feel myself expand and contract, releasing and clenching, ahhhhhhhh, there are no words… what is happening? I don’t care; I am beyond words, questions, anything but pure sensation.

A tiny whimper of a gasp escapes me —did I just hear you say you were going to cover me in whipped cream? Did I just hear you say you couldn’t wait to taste me? I am gone, I am yours, and I exist only for your pleasure, as you have existed in this short time only for mine. Yes, Please, come closer and taste me, you made me, and I am yours.”

The sensual art of making Pumpkin Pie.