"Play with me," she said. "I want you to play with me."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked, laying my head against her naked chest.
"I don't know," whispered my sex princess, "just play with me."
I lazily traced the very tip of my middle finger over her inside thigh.
"I don't really know what you want me to do," I admitted, "but..."
"No, keep it there," she said in a husky purr. "It's turning me on."
My middle finger was - very lightly - pressing against her mound. I wasn't even moving it; it had just managed to find its way there, and was lying in such a way that I could feel every beat of her pulse.
"I'll keep it there, then," I murmured.
And so I did. Without a single movement. I just let my finger lie there and, after a while, curled up my index finger too, resting that (just as gently) atop her clitoral hood. Her heart, as far as my ear could detect and my finger could feel, was beating faster, and her breathing increasing.
"What are you doing to me?" she shivered.
"I don't know; what am I doing to you?" I teased, at which my sex princess gave a little shudder.
"Keep going," she demanded, almost silently.
I didn't even look at what I was doing. I was fixated on her face as beads of perspiration began to form and drip from her forehead. Her eyes fluttered to a close, her teeth gritted in concentration. As soon as the rictus formed, it reformed, her eyes wide in astonishment and mouth hanging open in a silent scream, a little stifled sigh coming here and there, after which I suddenly - and, need I say, unexpectedly - realised that the place where I'd laid my hand to rest had become a lot wetter than usual.
"We should do that more often," she said, "because it's something that I like. Makes me feel better."
"Of course," I agreed with sleepy enthusiasm. "Any time."
"Do you realise I'm still wet?"
"Do you like that?"
I fell asleep still holding her.