Four writers for the price of one blog
What does this button open?
He pushes the top button through.
My blouse, Sir – says you, scooting backwards. He follows, his mask looming.
This button? – he asks. And this?
Your blouse parts.
He presses your nipples. What about these – buttons?
You arch, fall back on the bed, arms open. The masquerade mills outside the door. His finger moves down your belly.
Then he presses there. (You know where.) What does this button open?
Your legs part.
I see, he says. No button on your mask? Well… we’ll have to leave that on.
September 29 2010