Midnight’s inky stillness finally permits him the indulgence of his imagination.
What will I see when I unzip the dress? he wonders.
His tightly closed eyes allow him to see her standing before him, arms akimbo, one knee thrust forward. Brazenness made flesh. The black leather dress that she covets gleams in the spotlight of his imagination. He wonders how it will feel to the touch: cool, smooth, with an almost imperceptible sheen of oiliness.
Unconsciously, his fingers curl against his palms and re-open.
She doesn’t speak to him in his reverie, because he’s yet to learn how she sounds. Instead, she stands before him in vaguely scornful silence, daring him to move with only her eyes and her lips and her body, inciting him to give vent to his volcanic lust.
A stainless steel zip runs the full length of the dress’s front. In dreams to come, he will tear it downwards like a starving man; yank the two halves of leather apart in his fervour to gorge himself on the creamy nakedness concealed within. But this first time, he tarries, controlling his desire even though it fights to control him. He stretches an arm out slowly, takes hold of the cool metal tab between his thumb and forefinger, gripping hard enough to imprint the logo’s reflection in his flesh. He draws it downward with deliberation, just enough force to overcome the inertia of the interlocked teeth, all the way to where the hem sits just below the tops of her thighs. The crackle is electric: he doesn’t so much hear the sound as feel it, running down his spine like a train, coiling itself in his balls.
All the time, her unwavering gaze holds his.
The dress undone, he runs his thumbs along the insides of the zip, the metal rough against the fleshy pads, the perfect contrast for the smoothness of her skin. She breathes a little heavier, her full breasts heaving against the leather, pressing it outwards.
He opens the dress wide. She swallows at the exposure, but her eyes stay on his, her pride in her appearance evident and justified. His imagination revels in the glory of her, nude.
He doesn’t contemplate taking the dress off. He steps forward, kissing her firmly, passionately, his hands slipping to the small of her back so that he can pull her nakedness tight against his rousing body. The hardness of her nipples presses through the thinness of his cotton shirt, digging into his flesh. Her loins flutter against his, until he feels his control over his lust slipping. He imagines himself pushing her back so that she lands sprawled across a wide bed. He stands over her, pulling at his own clothes until he is naked, until he can lie atop her, his lips at her mouth, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, working his way down her trembling body until his mouth is poised before her pouting sex, senses immersed in the perfume of her arousal, in the glowing heat of her need.
As he plunges his tongue into her oiled depths, she cries out with ardour, long fingers grasping at the back of his head, hips forcing herself harder against his mouth. He slips his hands beneath her raised arse, cradling her to him like some exquisite, priceless chalice, and he drinks deeply of her lust.
And after she comes, while she is still shivering beneath the rolling waves of pleasure, he moves over her once more, piercing her slickness before her orgasm has had chance to subside, the first thrusts of his hard cock propelling her towards another climax. Her slender thighs entwine themselves about his hips, her heels pressing against his rear and the backs of his thighs, urging him on, on, even as her crafty tongue finds his ear, teasing him to shuddering ecstasy. And when his seed bursts forth, erupting within the velvet sweetness of her naked cunt, it is hot, copious, guilt-free.
As always, with orgasm she slips from his grasp, until emptiness forces his eyes open.
Slowly, he rolls onto his side, staring sightlessly at the wall beyond, wondering as he so often has about what might come to pass.