(This is my translation of the story. In my mind, "less is more" in the genre of seduction:)
I knew I'd never get another chance at this. I knelt on one knee, and looked up. We were in almost total darkness now, and I peered through the darkness to try to discern if his eyes were closed. They were. I could hear his breaths become steady and I wondered if he was asleep. No matter. I reached to the outlet just by the divan and flicked on the nightlight. The glow it cast in the room was absolutely haunted. I slid back into place, reached out and lightly touched one foot. He twitched alittle, and I stopped still. When I heard him breathing deeply again, I slid my hand slowly across the top of his bare foot, tracing my fingers steadily, one by one, over his toes, careful not to tickle. I let my hand follow, and eventually cupped his whole foot in my two hands. He didn't move. I gently massaged his feet, one at a time, feeling the wisps of fine hair on his toes under my fingers. My hands began to find their way up his ankles, then his calves as I made my way slowly up each firm leg. He smelled divine! Like soap. And weed. And passion. I could've sworn I smelled the sweet scent of charoset... And even a bit of fear.
Feeling him stir, I looked up through the darkening room to meet his eyes. Now slits of passion, he gave me a steady gaze that acknowledged his extreme machismo. Our bodies were nothing more than vessels of mutual excitement, my eyes completing my desire just as he took me in his strong arms pulling me close enough that I could feel his breath on the hot flesh of my now-naked breasts. He nuzzled one nipple and I cringed in ecstasy when his unshaven cheek grazed the other nipple while he flicked his tongue across the first. "Size doesn't matter when you have technique!" I just barely visualized the words in my mind as I felt the nudgings of an orgasm suddenly quake me from the depths.
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