Erotic Reverie. For The Mature. 18+ I would suggest.
Would she be ready, he wondered? It was, after all, Saturday, her day to prepare. There was hair to be styled, other hair in other places to be removed. Her clothes were her whim, but she knew which of her fancies would stir him to the quick eliciting his generosity.
“I’m in the mood for something leather, a skirt perhaps.”
Antoine, her designer who conspired to fulfill these whims, had found a red kidskin from an artisan in Italy and fashioned a most marvelous skirt that caressed the twin globes of her buttocks as if it were a coat of paint. To this masterpiece of suggestion, Antoine chose an exquisite black silk and fashioned a blouse that draped her breasts, suggesting their presence was within his grasp.
The Red and The Black. Leather and Silk. Flesh encased in luscious textures that fired not merely his lusts but hers as well. For that leather caressed her bare skin, and the tightness produced a sweaty stickiness. The silk, in turn, stroked her bare nipples to excited little points with every breath, welcoming his sucking and later the teasing pinches and then the maddening pulls.
Who is the Master of this Game, she who offers this fullness to match his concupescence, or he who rises to snap at her proffered bait?
He would have her body. She would have his. And the mutually beneficial arrangement paid for her flesh with his dollars. Never did they see their working arrangement as mutual exploitation. But mutual pleasure as attested to by their serotonin gluted synapses,
Dispatches From Dystopia 