Her fingers tense to the touch of my lips, as I trace my tongue unhurriedly from one to the next. Her palms are downwards against the board, and I feel the tiny hairs on the back of her hand rise under my lips. She has beautiful hands. I kiss her knuckles, then move on towards her wrists, where I linger to savour how the ropes hold her firm, passing three times round her wrist and the board which is cut exactly to her shape. I am glad we had this board made; a simple...
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