The Nightgown

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“I’m thinking of buying that nightgown, Thomas.”

Thomas looked in the catalogue, over Asha’s shoulder, at the picture of the model lounging on a chaise, clad in a satin gown with a slit high enough to expose an almost indecent swath of creamy thigh. The blond woman was thin and by the look of her folded-up legs, he could tell she was tall, too. Maybe even taller than him. Asha wasn’t as tall as she — her legs weren’t as long. And Asha’s hair was a sandy brown. The green eyes peeked at the prospective buyer from beneath lowered, smoky lashes — a smoldering come-hither look.

Asha’s ‘come hither’ was more of a crooked smile, almost a smirk — but she combined it with a raised eyebrow and sometimes a lick of her lips that shot desire straight to his gut.

Suddenly, the thought hit him. What would Asha look like in that? Her curves would be more prominent — the curve of the underside of her breast would Travesti show a little, and he could see the cleavage as plain as day: a promising, soft cleft between caramel-colored mounds. He could slide his cheek across the chocolate (as described in the catalogue) satin that would lie across her chest, maybe brush her nipple by ‘accident’, smell her perfume — or the peach body wash she used—right before he kissed her on her collarbone, his tongue slipping over the skin there and descending down between her breasts. She is always impatient when I kiss her there, he thought. The last time he’d kissed her there was in the movie theater, while they were watching “Runaway Bride.” He’d ended up with his fingers in her pussy by the time Richard Gere and Julia Roberts kissed, and she’d been palming him through his jeans.

What would the gown look like, hem bunched up across her stomach, the satin pooled Konya Travesti there like poured chocolate sauce? His wrist would disappear beneath the material; it would feel cool on his skin — a definite contrast to the warm wetness on his fingers.

Yes, that thing had some definite possibilities…

He would undress her slowly, slipping the straps off of her shoulders and letting them fall down her arms and cling to her breasts before coming away completely. The dark, deep brown of the satin would come down her body, exposing the lighter brown skin — like the unveiling of a statue of a goddess as it came to life. Her nipples would be that pinkish-brown color, the thatch of curls at her mound darker than the gown, inviting touch. The lush smell of her arousal would smell earthy with the peaches…

Or maybe he would just see it from behind, the little tie across the middle of the back İzmir Travesti tempting him. He would want to untie it and put his lips to her skin. Or maybe he would just stand behind her and when she bent a little, take the hem of the gown in his hands, and bunch it up, little by little, until the sensitive skin of her ass was revealed. She had the most luscious ass he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing; soft and gently muscled, identical globes except for the tiny mole on her right cheek.

He’d kiss her neck as he entered her, the little satin tie at her back pressing into his chest as he moved with her, her nipples pressing into his palms as he squeezed her breasts and told her all the naughty things in her ear that he knew she liked…. He would cum inside her and think about the contrasts: his cream inside the berry slickness of her pussy; her caramel skin and the chocolate satin nightgown.

“Thomas?” She was looking up at him curiously, probably thinking he was admiring the model, a faint smile on her face.

He was hard.

“I think it would look nice, Asha…”

Maybe, if they ordered it tonight, it could be at her apartment by Wednesday…

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