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The harmonies and counterpoint reflected in his touch, now more resolute and potent, holding and tenderly enfolding her breasts, touching her nipples and working his other hand across her mound, delicately allowing a finger to apply pressure to her hooded pearl. Elliptical trails of finger tips, the pressure and release of his palm, a wrist allowed to rest on a breast and then moving on. To Isabella, now head back and sighing softly, there many have been twenty hands, or a hundred, she was loosing her ability to differentiate one touch from another, all was becoming one beautiful dance of knowing flesh. She was vaguely aware of the voices of the choir, baritones touching her deepest parts while sopranos accompanied his fingers across her body, tenors speaking directly to her sex. Her lover had departed from the strict harmonies and patterns of the music now, still part of the whole but phrases grew organically, with little ornaments and decorations, accentuation and other effects. I got the garter belts, and again, put one on backwards first and then one foreward. As always, I slipped the white elastic straps under my panties. Like always, my stockings were a ritual. Rolling them up, loving the feeling, being overly careful since I still had on my nails. These were very expensive. They felt so soft, deliciously erotic. The bands were extremely wide, like none I had ever had before. I lovingly attached the 4 straps on each leg to them and as I stood and adjusted the tops, they were about 3 inches below the crotch of my panties. I could just swoon as I touched and caressed softly, looking into the mirror. I turned this way, that way, looked at myself over my shoulder, at how they enhanced the look of my ass, and thighs. Was I to be a sacrifice tonight? I had no idea. Breaking myself away from the mirror, I slipped the baby doll on. It fit like a glove. There were little pads in the cups and my tiny breasts, filled out and moved in. I now looked like I had C.
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