Monday, July 27, 2009

Little Black Dress

It had been fifteen minutes since Emily excused herself to go to the restroom. I was beginning to get a little concerned. She wasn't drunk by any means, but she'd had more than a few.

Finally, I decided I'd better go look for her, see if she if she'd gotten trapped in some conversation.

I checked the bathroom downstairs, the entire first floor. No Emily.

I heard sounds upstairs, figured there must be a bathroom up there.

At the top of the stairs, I rounded the corner and froze.

He was lifting the hem of her little black dress, exposing stocking tops. Fuck, she was wearing stockings!

He was holding her hands over her head, not quite forcing her, but obviously dominating her. And she was melting, that much was obvious.

He ran his hands up her leg, to the front of her panties.

"I want you," I heard him say.

I expected Emily to yell, to call for help, to remember where she was, who she was, push him off, end the game.

Instead she moaned, a willing moan, a grunt, an affirmation of her want, her needs.

"In here," he started to push her towards the bedroom next to them. I was transfixed. Fuck, Emily was going to...

"Hot, isn't it," Emily's voice whispered in my ear, startling me. I almost yelped, I did jump just as the man dragged the woman into the bedroom.

"I know what you were thinking, lover," she said turning me so I faced her, faced Emily, wearing an almost identical black dress.

"And I know it turned you on thinking that was me."

"Emily, I..."

"Let's go find our own bedroom, shall we," she said, taking my hand, dragging me down the hall.


  1. Again...looking at your taste in visuals is one thing. Perfect. Your writing is even better. You have quite a gift. Go to this myspace page. This is me and my music. It's called Concussion. Put on the first track. Run a warm bath. Find yourself, arch if need be...and then please finish with your story.