In a darkened room, softly lit with flickering candles, you are lying on the bed undressed as I've directed. I have a surprise for you. Hoping the wait heightens your curiosity and anticipation, I have left you alone with your thoughts.
A door off to the side opens, and you see a woman. She is medium tall, with long red curly hair falling almost to her breasts. Her eyes are a deep green and you can see shyness and uncertainty in them in the short moment she makes eye contact with you before looking timidly away.
She is holding a silky cream-colored piece of fabric up to her body, crossed arms securing it at breast level, hiding herself from you, but the fabric cannot hide the curve of her hips. Her skin is pale, flawless, like cream. Although she is the picture of demure innocence, everything about her speaks of sex.
Then you notice that I'm behind her. I'm wearing a very sheer white gown, so sheer you can see every curve and the darkness of my hard nipples. My hands are on her waist, coaxing her into the room. She is hesitant, but I am able to maneuver her to the bed, where she stands before you within your reach.
You look at me, and I can see desire in your eyes, but also a question. I reach for your hand and place it on the outside of her thigh, letting you know it's okay to touch. As you slide your hand along her soft skin, up her thigh, across her rounded hip to the indention of her waist, and then down the back to cup her buttock, I reach around from behind her and gently tug at the fabric she is using to cover herself. She is the perfect height for my breasts to rest in the small of her back as I pull the fabric from her grasp, leaving her fully exposed before you.
She is the embodiment of curves, full-breasted with large but pale nipples. The patch of hair below is a red triangle, seemingly pointing to the treasure hidden by her tightly-closed legs. Instinctively, she covers her breasts with her hands, but I reach around from behind, sliding my hands from her elbows to her wrists, then gently pull her arms down to her sides. She is embarrassed, and yet I know that underneath her embarrassment is a smoldering sexuality waiting to be unleashed.
Still from behind, I place my hands on her stomach and caress upwards until I am holding a breast in each hand. They are warm and firm. As I knead them gently, her head falls back and a soft, barely audible sigh escapes her lips. This is a touch she has feared, yet craved. Sliding my hands back down to her stomach, I peer around her to see you.
You are still lying on your back, watching with hunger, stroking yourself. Your eyes are on the Y that cradles her womanhood, and I know that you long to see it. I slide my hand down the back of her right thigh, indicating that she should bend her leg at the knee and place her dainty foot on the edge of the bed.