The Muse

A sly look across a crowded room
A subtle shift from shadow to light
Unconsciously, the blouse button is opened
A delicate edge of black lace is exposed

Too bold? She can not tell
His eyes meet hers, then she averts
Hearing nothing but her heart
Beating a tattoo in her ears

She starts as a hand grasps her wrist
Twisting her arm slightly
So she is left no doubt as to intent
Her knees quaver
 
“Don’t move” Hot breath sears her ear
Well trained, she freezes
Heightened senses feel the body heat
Looming behind her
 
Short cotton skirt, silk thong
Scant protection against intrusions
Dressing for power
Leaves her vulnerable
 
Sharp nails graze the inner thigh
Tracing four razor lines
As the hand is brought upward
To rest against firm flesh

A gasp as the hand thrusts between thighs
Arm is twisted more to remind her
Silent and compliant she must be
She has no will

Wet silk forced tight between lips
The rush of blood makes her swoon
Fingers probe engorged flesh
She forgets to breath
 
The milling crowd is oblivious
She struggles to maintain
A calm demeanour
While a fire rages within

Slow, insistent massage
She feels the climax building
She needs to push against the hand
But dare not disobey

One, two fingers suddenly inside
Another gasp, louder
People look, the hand tightens in warning
She smiles faintly and they turn away

The hand takes her completely
Fingers inside, fingers on her clit
Thumb probing her ass
She is his puppet

Resistance is futile
She fights to internalize
Waves of orgasm washing through her
All must appear normal

As the tension drains and she relaxes
She has not noticed that her wrist is free
The looming presence
Haunts her no more
 
Looking around at the crowd
No one is noticing her
She buttons her blouse
And slips into the shadow once more

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