To find you like this!
The torture was exquisite; he had never experienced torment like it; his back was a mass of cool flame. He held his breath; a film of sweat beaded his upper lip; from his tightly squeezed eyelids a salt tear emerged and slipped down his nose; he whimpered slightly and squirmed.
The torment ceased.
“Oh God, don’t stop!”
And the feather-light fingers recommenced the faint, so faint, brushing of his skin, raising goose-flesh where they touched, and sending a charge along the nerve from each vertebra, to electrify his whole body. They moved to the baby-soft skin of his flanks, to the delicate skin under the whole length of his arm down to his wrist: a maddening susurration from fingers that knew the precise level of pressure required to render him helpless; in thrall to a sensation never dreamt of in his most ardent imaginings.
“Turn over.”
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