She opened her beige blouse and flung it on the divan, her eyes were looking directly into his. She steadily opened her skirt, flaunting her curved waist to and fro.
He lifted his arms to touch her but she slapped it away; her eyes told him to let his eyes feast on her dusky body before she let him take over her desires with pain and pleasure.
Unblinking he lifted the skirt she threw on the cold and damp floor and sniffed it, his mind clouded with wet fantasies. She had her back towards him; sensing the opportunity, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her towards him. Her skin was soft and supple, smelling of jasmine and lavender oil. She must have massaged her beautiful body before coming to me, he thought.
Taken aback she tried squirming out of his grip but in vain. She gave up and let him have his way. Anyway, her time was up. She could feel his warm breath falling onto her skin and purifying it to some extent. Under the warm light, his hands were glistening. She held them tightly, as he slipped his hands under her skirt and softly squeezed her thigh. His grip was tightening with each movement of the clock hands.
He turned her around to face him. Her bosom felt like it had entrapped him in an illusion; an illusion of raw and infinite memories.
She hugged him and let his warmth engulf her in a dream-like state. But the moment of such lustful euphoria was short-lived as she left a sharp pain on her back. It was her breakout.
She had once foreseen these events as a child when her mother had warned her against men who took advantage of a weak maiden and took their innocence with them in a black bag. He had none.