“I thought you understood. Some people are meant to be loved, and others, just naked.”

Like any good magician, his sleight of hand was impeccable. This flawless execution was a definite advantage when unlacing her corset. Fingers slipping between the heavy ribbons and separating them with the effortless precision of a loom. He plucked those strings like a violin, freed her from her fabric cage, and the sound it made when it hit the floor was sweeter than any symphony. His smiled at the curves that spilled forth, her flesh subtly indented from the structure of the discarded garment. These markings functioned as a sort of treasure map, suggesting locations to begin his exploration. The anticipation was palpable and shown in her posture, the delicate tilt of her neck as she gazed at him over her shoulder. He circled her slowly, like a caged tiger, drinking in every inch of her criminal femininity, grinning like a child on Christmas morning who’d just discovered the biggest gift under the tree was his to unwrap.

The illumination of her naked silhouette beneath those aging stage lights was a stunning sight to behold. Even her imperfections twinkled like stars in some vast, unknown galaxy. Two delicate dimples perforated the skin on her lower back, in that long, gorgeous space just above her ass, practically begging to be kissed. Once for luck, twice for dramatic effect. He was, after all, the consummate showman. Her legs were so long they made the Nile green with envy. They poured down from that metal folding chair like expensive champagne, freed from bottled captivity, and she kept them parted like the gates of a secret garden.

She was growing restless from his momentary hesitation, curious to discover what the magician had hiding up his sleeve this time. Would he make her disappear, turn her over like a card, pluck her like a rabbit from his hat.  The slight squint of her hazel eyes told him not to keep her waiting. His approach was performed in a singular, sudden rush toward her. Now you see him, now you don’t. He lifted her from the metal skeleton of her seat and she, driven by an instantaneous and purely primal instinct, wrapped the tender expanse of her inner thighs around the sharp folds of his hipbones. Their mouths hovered millimeters apart, with heavy breaths uniting the space in between. She had warned him before not to kiss her. She enjoyed the game of resistance they played, challenging each other to withstand the temptation the longest, a game who’s surrender was a blissful forfeit.

to be continued…..

a.duncan 2016

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Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus || Love is rich with both honey and venom

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