Pleasure.

Say it. It rolls off your tongue like a sweet dessert and pools in your center. It turns you warm until it turns up the heat. Until you start to burn in a flash, then settle to a deep slow burn. You feel it like you feel your heartbeat. It courses through your veins. It never stops or slows down. It takes you to the brink of madness and summons you back again, like a mistress of magic.

Mmm.. that's who I am. I am the mistress of this heat, this pleasure. A gift, or an exquisite torture - do you know the difference? Do you care? You won't. Not until this flame begins to consume you, and I am not there to sate it, or feed it. When I am not there to begin with no touch at all. When I only gaze silently, and you feel it roll through your entire being, down every nerve. When I unsheath you with feathery caresses, then turn away when you stand with no barriers to the world. And then I will walk behind you. I will caress your skin with a silken touch, and you become instantly aware of everything around you, everything in you. All seen clearly, with an intensity you have never known before, and without me will never feel again. I will touch your hair, and nothing seems like it could be more erotic than that simple caress. You can't move, can't think. You can do nothing but melt to my every whim and slip to the floor. Then I kneel and run my hand along the length of your body, from your brow to your toes, then back to trace circles along your hips. Then up to run the pads of my fingers across your nipples, to trace their curve. Then both my hands trace up to your shoulders, and I lean over you so that you can see me.

I am wearing a black silk shirt. Unbuttoned until you can see the curve of my breast. My blond hair falls like a shining waterfall, brilliant green eyes see through you to your very core, and dark heavy lips part - just a little. I am wearing a black skirt, of a mid thigh length. You can see the shape of my hip, the curve that leads down to exquisite legs. You can hear me breathing. You can feel the heat from my skin. And then I move.

My fingertips trace down your shoulders, your arms. To your abdomen. They pause, holding your hips with the lightest of grips, but you could not move even if you wished it. You are molten, barely flowing into a shape recognised as your body. And then I straddle your thighs. And my hands leave you to play with the collar of my blouse. They slide down to the fourth or fifth button, the first one done up. And I start to unbutton my blouse. You cannot help but watch as my hands travel down to the last buttons at my hips. I take a deep breath and arch, ever so slightly. The blouse slips from my shoulders like a lost piece of the night. I slip the straps of the lacy black bra from my shoulders, then arch as I reach back to undo the tiny hooks. The bra is discarded almost casually, with a liquid movement.

Do you want to know the rest?

"Pleasure . . . part 2"

Written 08/98 by Night Angel