“"You have to ease into it. Slowly. To stroke him . . . gently." She grabbed Elory's wrist and lowered her hand. Guided by her mentor, Elory stroked Tash's thigh, slowly running her fingers up and down. "Like this?" Tash groaned. "You're moving like an automaton! You have to relax. To be like a musician. A musician doesn't just play the notes rigidly, she feels the music. Feel me." "I am!" Elory kept stroking the woman's leg. "I don't just mean feel me physically, I mean . . . feel me. Who I am.... Who he will be." Tash moved closer to Elory. "Let me show you." They sat on a bed between the curtains of beads. The candles burned in their alcove, wax dripping. The hookah smoke flowed through the pleasure pit. On the bed beside them, two women lay asleep, drooling, deep in the slumber of hintan. Elory didn't know the hour. There was no sunlight here, only the candlelight and the light in Tash's eyes. Slowly, the dark-haired pleasurer ran her fingers along Elory's body, trailing them up her legs, up her back, toward her ears, along her shoulders.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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