These knickers have secrets all of their own. They’ve not just been handpicked, caressed, hand wrapped and mailed from far overseas. Oh no. They have far naughtier stories to tell.

They’ve stroked over my naked body, down between my thighs, rubbed against the hardening shaft of my throbbing cock.

An artist’s imagery of your muse body painted on the canvas of my mind. Rendered in rich oils, I stroked my cock like a sable brush, stroking over the canvas of your body. Straining to paint you inside, to tattoo my name into the fabric of your soul, to brand you with the heat of my cum.

Confidently you slip your classical feet into a pair of gorgeous leather heeled sandals, buckling them at the ankle, another admiring gift from your secret man.

Your new green dress rests across the bed, inviting you to slip this new garment on. Turning to the baroque white frame of your tall, floor standing, bedroom mirror, you admit your reflection is as striking as ever.

The soft feel and deep green of the dress, offering such a complimentary colour against your olive rich skin tones, the swirling ocean of colour in your eyes, and the deep dark brunette of your hair.

Your hair, reminding me of the colour of forest bark after heavy rain, so dark and rich with deep brown. The deep green of the dress, clinging to your slender frame with a demure elegance, refusing to betray the sexy raunch of those saucy secrets hidden beneath.

The reflection in your mirror pleases you. The colours and the combination, the smooth youthful sheen of your legs rising from the elegant leather of your sandals, the outline of your frame as feline as ever. Faultless, as fragile as it is strong. A gift to the eyes of those who know.

You slip your hand down to the hem of your dress and slowly reveal more of yourself to the mirror. Imagining the pleasure you’ll see caught in the light of my eyes as they delight on the burlesque imagery of your slow reveal. More and more, inching your hem higher and higher.

My eyes igniting, climbing the lines of your thighs, the delicate lace clinging to your hip, the silky secrets of those knickers, now revealed, my cock throbbing with the memory of our making love.

Every single moment. The stroke of those same knickers, gripped against my phallus, my cock stroking in my hand as I bring myself to climax with those knickers rubbing against the memory of our movement.

You lift your iPad and with a simple click, you capture the moment.

And send…

~ III ~

Carefully I set the deck of 72 Tarot cards down, leaving the Empress card face up. I flip open my iPad, remembering threads of a verse I’d been working on, waiting for the words to form, taking this moment to open creative channels in my mind and listen for the couplets and rhymes of you.