He slowly becomes aware, although it is as though he is peering through a haze, through half-lidded eyes. There is a tongue that toys with his own as it lolls from his slack-jawed mouth. There is soft, warm breath that touches his face, and a sound like a cat's purr that touches his ears- teasing, tickling.
There is the sensation of a body touching his- a feminine feeling touch, but powerful- muscular. He realizes that the hair atop his head is in the grasp of a hand, a grip that holds him close- to her face. Her hair mingles with his as she holds him- so close. With her other hand, she is trailing her fingers up and down his chest- tracing the curves of his abs and pectorals. She seems to be taking the measure of him, even as her hand eases its way downward, until it finds the hardness of his manhood.
Sleepy- so very much wanting to sleep, to succumb to the pleasant sense of comfort that has taken him over. He breathes deeply more of the perfume that she exudes all about him. The touch of her hand upon his throbbing member recalls to him the bliss of moments just past, of the powerful orgasm that wracked his whole being as-
"As what?" he muses idly, like he is viewing himself from some distance. Thinking is such a chore, he decides, slipping back into a reverie that is fixed upon her- upon everything that she is doing to him in these tender moments.
Slipping, he decides. Sliding. No, more like what it must feel like to be swallowed whole. Liquid, surrounding him. Warm. Comforting. And muscular the sensation of his whole body being kneaded, guided inward, drawn into a soft and tender place.