When Reason is Imprisoned by Silk

Your invisible hand begins at her full breasts, tense beneath the silver-white satin. The fabric is cool and slick, reflecting the dim light, but cannot hide the searing heat from within. You glide down her slender waist, feeling every trembling fold of the fabric. And then, you press your entire palm onto her taut ass, straining on the small chair. The silk is stretched like a violin string, displaying the VPL etched deep into the fabric—a map for desire. You squeeze tightly, gripping, feeling the resilience of the imprisoned flesh. You press deep into the cleft, where the fabric is hottest, tightest, emitting a dry, frictional rustle. Now, inhale deeply this scent that imprisons reason: the smell of pristine new silk blended with the rich, private scent of flesh. That scent is the final bar on the prison of reason. One hand relentlessly torments the VPL line, while the other grips your cock. You stimulate yourself to the brink, until the feeling of an impending eruption becomes uncontrollable... then you stop, forcing reason to win for a moment. Then you inhale that scent deeply again, letting instinct roar for possession once more. You repeat this sweet torture, until all bars are shattered, only then do you allow yourself to roar and explode, turning imprisonment into a frenzied liberation.