He was sitting and having a cup of coffee. A break between meetings.
When he noticed her stepping out the lift.
It must have been her height.
She stood a head above the rest.
A pleasurable distraction.
The dress left little to the imagination. A well fitting chocolate brown silky number. Her fair hair quite the contrast.
A slight arrogance in her walk...the hint of a sway in her hips.
Strong legs. Long legs. Dancers legs. His imagination began to turn.
A hint of a cleavage, as of nipples too. She was not wearing a bra.
Natural breasts..a natural swoop. He could imagine the softness.
Her face naked and free of heavy makeup. An innocence even though the maturity of a longer life was obvious in the quiet confidence of her demeanor.
A ready smile and friendly greeting .A sexiness so appealing yet so understated.
She asked to be seated at the table next to him.
He couldn't tell her thoughts. Her eyes were shaded by dark glasses.
She opted to sit with her back slightly toward him ...placing one knee on the chair...riding her dress higher to sit down.
Damn.
The sight of the roundness of her bum. A view of the lace on the top of her stocking.
A deliberate arch for his benefit as she sat on one leg.
He didn't care that he was staring. Why not. What a waste not to.
That minute seemed to take forever...and then she did it.

She turned toward him
that slow turn
that hand moving her dress ever so slightly higher
that reveal of more thigh
that anticipation that she was pantiless placing her feet squarely
firmly
flat
apart.

And she was
......pantiless.

Moving slightly forward in her chair, dress riding higher, her womanly mound now within full view.

Fuck.

"This is your favourite dress, isn't it." she said, more as a statement rather than question.

The afternoon planned was going to be exactly as he had wanted.


RB.