RIP!

The small sound of my white cotton blouse catching on the printer door I had accidentally closed upon it, turning away to rush off with a stack of white papers that mean nothing to me except a paycheck.

I examine the shirt for damage but there is none except to my concentration. I liked the sound of that you see.

And I feel the warm wet building again without my consent down in saucy grey dress slacks that hug my hips just so. I know that he would love the look of me in these, hugging the circles of my body just so, yet prim and proper. Black high heeled boots that zip up to above the ankle are hidden below a flare that dares your eye to travel upward. To the more fitted place.

I trace the slope of my hip gently then blush and hope that no one saw. I’ve no ability to hide my mind and lovers find me easily to read.

I have a desperate need to be filled. And only he fits.

My head wanders to a hotel room where he might kiss and kiss me with the hunger of more than three hundred days of wanting. Opening my legs and guiding me up onto the counter top where he would sigh the thigh of I catching notice and snug fitting black stocking.

“Those stay on” he mutters, kissing me allowing my hand to fumble to his belt and pull and tug it free until he is opened and solid inside my palm pressing forward eagerly into my warm grip. A promise of relentlessly forward momentum.

“Rip!” the sound of my black lace panties, the frail lace worn just for him to “Rip!” the sound of them as they come apart in his strong hand. They may lay in tatters, it matters not but what he’s got is free reign to test my …

“Ohhhh” and the hand finds the spot all warm and soft like butter waiting to be sliced and spread on warm fresh bread from the oven in my Mothers kitchen and I …

“Ahhh…” the sound of two fingers swimming into the thick pink folds of my tender place, and while I face him I cannot meet his gaze. In ways he is consumption and I am feast. I fear the beast of him and yet I love its wrath…and sex the smell of sex. The beads of white forming on the head of him.

I beg, he relents…wrapping his arms around me as I drop down to the ground and taste him full inside the mouth the candy warmth of him and lick and lick the thick syrup returning to fill me yet with more…

“Rip” the sound of pants kicked off in so much haste, I’m turned and faced to the floor.

“Rip” the sound of skirt hiked up above my hips, his finger tips molding handfuls of me on left and right.

There is time for love. There is time for possession… conquering. Having and taking simply because I was already owned by him a thousand years before we met.

Forget.

“Rip” paper sounding grounding me back to present tense. And fantasy fades like favorite jeans spun once too many times.

“You going to stand there all day?” asks sarcastic tart. I’ve half a heart to staple her hand right where we stand. But I do not.

I have to change my panties.