Her Harness

My eyes fall on her with immediate intensity and unwavering curiosity. Her fitted black dress hugs her curves tightly like a second skin, exposing every contour of her body yet somehow leaving so much to the imagination. Though that dress would turn any head, it’s not what holds my attention.

Above her dress, around her ribcage and throat, a slick leather harness is fastened like a combination between a corset and jewelry. I’ve never seen anything like it. My hands are tingling. I want to slide my fingers beneath its straps, grip it tightly, pull her into me. I want that dress gone, and everything else except that harness. That tantalizing leather cage longs to be used just as I long to use it.

She unstraps her harness slowly, standing before me. She looks down at her task, glancing up every so often to meet my gaze. After her harness is removed she lets that little black dress fall around her ankles. She steps out of her dress and drops the harness on the floor next to it.

“Put it back on,” I say sternly. “Please” I add.

She smiles. She’s done this before.

The straps are fastened in a fraction of the time it took them to unfasten and she is sitting in my lap, facing me, her harness just an inch or so from my face. I place a hand on her lower back, I drag it up her spine and land on the central leather strap, I grip it once lightly and a second time not so lightly. Her back arches, she tilts her face up towards the ceiling, and I use two leather-filled hands to pull her onto her back as I flip on top of her.

Two hands pulling her back into me. I kneel behind her and wish my eyes could see deeper, more intensely, just to further experience the curve or her spine, swerve of her hips, her skin beneath that harness.

She moves on top of me, legs wrapped around me, hands tightly gripping the back of my neck. I glide my fingers under each strap until I reach the one around her throat. I slip my fingers up underneath it, I catch her gaze and hold it is I stand, her following suit, and lower her to the floor on her back.

Sweat glides down my back, her moans are muffled as her face presses into the pillow. She turns around to face me. I stop, confused. “Do you want to wear it?” she asks.

 

BB.

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