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Birthday Present
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Birthday Present It's your birthday, and you're with that one special woman in your life. You're at her home, sitting on the sofa waiting for her when she comes out of her bedroom wearing nothing but a body stocking...sheer black with embroidered flowers, leaves, and vines, very low back, exposed throat and chest - a halter like shape that covers only half of each breast and each tapering into a single tie fastened behind her neck, bare shoulders and arms. Oh yeah...and spike heels...black, 3 inch heels...can't forget those. She stands in front of you, just outside of arm's reach...not doing or saying anything, mind you...just standing there. She watches for your reaction, the corners of her rosy lips turning upward in a very satisfied smile upon seeing your mouth drop open, your pupils dilate, and hearing something rise up from your chest that sounds vaguely like "oh my god." You catch a fleeting whiff of her<b> perfume...</font></b>a scent she chose carefully because of how perfectly it combines with her own body chemistry to produce a chemical note devastatingly irresistible to mortal men. There for a brief moment then gone, her smell plays a taunting game of hide and seek with your senses, further heightening your already aroused state. She knows she's hit the mark, and that something quite, well, primal - something she wanted to arouse in you - is starting to simmer in the deepest recesses of your brain. She knows that primitive remnant is now fully awake and beginning to transmit signals via your central nervous system to all parts of your body...heart, lungs, adrenal glands, and those special pulses racing down your spine and setting off a chain reaction of events deep in your pelvis. You reach out for her, ready to simply devour her, but she takes half a step back and whispers "not yet." The whimper from you almost makes her feel pity for what she's doing to you...almost. It's her intention that her efforts at preparing this feast for you do not go wasted. She intends to make sure her image is seared so completely into your brain that the resulting memory will never be overwritten by anyone else. She stands there, hands on her hips, slowly adjusting her stance by shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Your eyes travel over the contours of her body from her brushed and shimmering hair, down over her face...fixing for a moment on her soft, full lips. Your gaze then moves hungrily down her bare throat to her chest, where the cleavage from her breasts dips beneath the gossamer material stretched loosely over each. The smooth roundness of each is interrupted by fully erect, tightly packed nipples, each straining to poke its way through the flimsy material. Your eyes instinctively follow the seam down from the lowest part of the chest opening, down over her waist and to the point at which it disappears between her toned, muscular thighs. You're studying the place where it disappears - your mind racing with thoughts of how warm and purely female the scent must be - when she turns, and your breath gets chopped mid-inhale by the view of her back. Her toned shoulders tapering down to a tiny waist, then spreading out slightly to her hips and the cutest butt you've ever seen. Through the embroidered flowers and vines, you can very clearly make out each fleshy mound and the dark cleft dividing them. She leans forward a bit, cocking her stance first onto one leg then the other to change the shape and view of her scrumptious ass. Clearly, she's tormenting you, turning up the heat on you to raise the lust in you from simmer to full, rolling boil. She turns again, moves towards you, and sits in your lap...her legs straddling yours, her forearms draped over your shoulders and her fingers clasped around the back of your neck. "Happy Birthday..." she says as she closes the distance between her mouth and yours, her voice lowered to a sultry half whisper, "...ready to unwrap your present?" |
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