Undressed

Her dress.

She has the kind of curves that beg to be gripped, the kind of curves that conform fabric to skin. I rarely see her in skirt or dress, but she was wearing one that day. I wanted her in that dress. I wanted to stand behind her and quietly tug the edge of it up just far enough for my hand to disappear under the back of it. Let fingers find the small of her back, the first electric touch of naked skin while she shifts in front of me, trying not to betray the fact I have my hands on her. Each shiver, each shift of her hips detailing her reaction to my fingers as they slip under the edge of her panties, pressing lower until I find the smooth skin of her ass.

This brazen intimacy is an aphrodisiac. My hands on her naked skin make her nervous and wet. I know she likes to be watched. To be hungered for. To be taken. Until today, it’s not something she’s ever been truly brave enough to have. I was cruel enough to make it a gift she had choice but to accept.

I’d make her watch me push the fabric over her thighs, hips, waist. I wanted her to feel my teeth on her skin, her eyes watching me as I marked her. I wanted to have her in the dressing room. Bent over, dress up and over her ass while I fuck her hard and fast, driving her into the side of the small room, one hand entangled in the back of her hair while I take her with enough force to leave bruises on her thighs.