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respond to his. And they didn't. It was like I was there in the room
watching this happen to someone else, someone numb. He got under the
covers with me and his hands began to move over my body, his caresses
more sexual. He had undressed sometime after I was blindfolded. His
hand slid down my stomach to just below my navel. And ever so lightly,
lower still, to where my skin becomes silk. My breath caught and the
stomach muscles betrayed me by tightening involuntarily, as though I
had been tickled.
His hand slid lower still and cupped my hairless sex, stroking
gently. I was determined not to respond, and again my detachment
returned. He continued to stroke. My skin felt so smooth down there; I
could see the point of the hairlessness, I thought for the second
time. But I was determined not to respond. Not to move. I could have
an orgasm and he would never know, I thought. I was becoming more and
more detached; floating, almost dreaming. His caresses became more
insistent; his fingers entered me. Still I didn't respond. I deliber-
ately relaxed.
This is hard to explain. As he continued to stroke and kiss me, I
remained detached, but my body began to move without effort on my
part. Sounds l
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