Awakening the senses: The Sensual Path.

1. Fabric

Is it silk, satin, or velvet..?

The fabric, laid out gracefully on a flat surface, reveals its texture and weave, stretching out in a smooth, inviting expanse. The left hand, steady and composed, rests gently on the fabric, its fingers lightly pressing down to hold it in place, ensuring that it remains perfectly aligned.

The right thumb, with a delicate yet purposeful touch, moves with a soft exploratory rhythm across the surface. Each slight pressure and gentle glide a guide to discern the fabric's quality and feel.

Vertically, it slides through the pleats and folds of the fabric with a sensuous glide. It's slightly glossy...wet...satin perhaps..? It cascades like liquid silk under the fingertips...a whisper of luxury and desire.

The folds, like cool water, flowing and undulating...you can feel the warmth...the promise of pleasure as you hover above it. You move your gaze from the enchantment...it's too soon.

There's a glistening bead above, hidden under the glossy folds. The thumb traced along the contours, painfully slow...The fabric responds with a silky sigh, the layers move with a sinuous grace, parting to slightly reveal the hidden gem underneath.

It wants to be coaxed, yearning for a touch of gentle persuasion, a circular motion to do the trick...to conduct an exquisite exploration of what's underneath...draw out its true essence. Each stroke, a caress that glides in a gentle spiral, the repetition creates a mesmerizing effect that lingers and fades with each graceful turn... each revolution creating a delicate pressure that builds and releases.

As sudden...a shiver of pleasure, the folds become taut...like a whispered secret, it tells of the tension amongst its warps and wefts...the motion stops.

You squint your eyes, an eagle-eyed gaze, sharp and penetrating...keen and alert. Perhaps because of the predatory ooze it exudes, the folds shiver with subtle undulations. But still, the origin of the whisper of pleasure can not be traced...like a flicker of mystery.

Leaning closely, you resume the cyclic motion...eyes twinkle with a devilish delight... unknown what it alludes to, maybe a snare to catch its weavings next time...for it sure does hide well...but it is impatient, that much is known...it craves a release. The motion is deliberately slowed down, the seconds seem like hours...the calm resumes.

Impatience... it is impatient. The tantalizing tension in the air extends a little bit longer...a barely-contained energy that thrums with anticipation.
Your thumb still moves slowly, a dramatic agonizing slow through the gentle curves and layers, seemingly strolling through a garden...at peace... admiring its allure.

Suddenly it jerks...alas, the hunted lost in this thrilling blend of anticipation, brought to light from the shadows betrayed by its own repressed pleasure...hurriedly, it blends with the darkness... hoping it was not caught, but alas it was all for naught...the sudden pause by its hunter conveyed that it was noticed.

It was a trap after all!

This time...unlike the first, more clues are left behind in its bid to make a hasty retreat...the origin of that shiver of pleasure could thus be traced. The first clue...perhaps the subtle scent that lingers in the air, its fragrance a seductive invitation that stirs curiousity...now that you think about it, it was left behind the first time it appeared...thus the hunt begins.

On your voyage...a whispered word, soft and breathy grazes your senses, it ignites a spark of intrigue within you...of the irony of it hiding from the pleasure it so much desires. Thumb trails downward, slowly but determined, it's destination clear.

With each discovered piece, the puzzle grows more captivating, deeper layers of mystery and desire unlocked.

Further down it goes, might have slight deviations transversing the various contours, but nevertheless, it is on the right path. Soon it will unveil and discover the mysteries under.

Closer to it's destination, its contact with the folds becomes more coated with a glistening sheen...a little wet, friction now a non-existent factor. At last, it is at its destination, the last seen of the trailed shiver...a gap. Cautiously it trails around the boundary seemingly wanting to discover more clues, but ultimately in it goes. The gloss spreads all around it as it dips further and further.

Noticing this, it goes back up, you lean in, observing it, keen to catch the minute details of this endeavor- a treasure hunt of sorts...it looks tasty, seemingly transformed into a glistening invitation, a subtle shimmer on it, beckons to be licked. A twitch from the fabric dissuades your gaze from it, you turn to the fabric and resume the slow descent...but its image had been etched to your mind, it won't be the end...you will review it later.

Deeper it goes, but it is harder finding it, it seems hidden. You stop the descent, and absentmindedly assume rhythmic motion, its movements no longer purposeful and explaratory.
With few variations in motion - unknowingly adding a layer of tantalizing anticipation. This captivating sequence stirs and rouse the nerves underneath, awakened from their slumber, seemingly triggered by the intruder.

The result of this still unknown.

You are clueless of this, ironically whilst contemplating clues, you decide to retrace its steps, slowly, you move it move back up from the depths, applying varying pressure along the boundary walls, the delicate pleat of folds have an almost imperceptible undulating... informing you the effect of your actions...a blatant snare to catch your prey.

Suddenly, a twitch...it gets stuck. The seemingly delicate folds wrapped around it with a vice grip.

It was a trap.

The hunter becomes the hunted