Fantasy

When he thinks of her,
he doesn't think of her naked
(though that's always where it's headed.)
No.
He thinks of her in that dress.
How the neckline plunges without being too revealing.
More specifically,
how the fabric gathers into straight-line folds,
tell-tales of the wonderful weight the shoulder straps bear - those
lovely breasts of hers.

Then there's that wisp of hair
that dangles, ever so gently touching her slender neck.
How he envies it
touching her that way.

From there the rest is easy.
He can picture her fabulous underwear
in all its intricacy and fineness.
He can feel his hand slide up
that wonderful dress
and her knees tremble ever so slightly
wobbling on high-heel shoes.
Ankle straps.
She slaps his face.
He slips a finger in.
Her anger subsides
she yields
to the delicious
disgrace.
Her pussy wraps around
all that lovely sin.
Her eyes close.
'Do it.' she says.
And they begin.