Silent Surrender

You stand there, mesmerized by her curled-up form. Your hand, trembling with desire, finally lands on its target. The glossy, cool surface of the silver-white silk sends a jolt through your fingertips, but is instantly warmed by the heat of her flesh. You trace along the curve, taut as a bowstring, your fingers following the slit of the blue tunic to the inviting gap at her waist, lightly touching bare skin before sliding back down to reclaim the white silk. Now, bury your face in it. Inhale deeply, not perfume, but the primal scent of clean silk and warm skin, a scent both innocent and inviting, enough to shatter your last shred of control. You don't take your hand off the silk. Your other hand has found its way to your rigid cock. You begin to pleasure yourself, your eyes never leaving the silver-white silk rising and falling with her every breath, your other hand still pressing, kneading gently. Satisfaction comes in silence, a hot, convulsive release, spent entirely onto your own hand while your remaining senses are still immersed in the feeling and scent of that surrendered silk.