Lucky's Strike

She was nothing like he'd expected. Her body was something to die for and her eyes had shot sparks like a firecracker on a hot July Fourth. She had worn her power suit like it was armor.

Well, he had news for her, the demure cut hadn't achieved the hoped-for look. Instead, it had showcased her hourglass figure like a sculptor's modeling clay. He had an instant fantasy pop into his head. He could see her standing in front of him, her high heels showing off those curvy little legs in black stockings with the seam running up the muscular calf past the knee and thigh. In his fantasy, she wore a g-string instead of panties and it split her perfect, round ass into two delightful globes his hands itched to touch when he pushed her purple skirt up over her hips and bunched it at her waist.

In his fantasy, she wore nylons, not panty hose. He closed his eyes and imagined himself leaning against her, bending her over a roulette table, running one finger down her butt and around to her clit. She groaned and writhed against him, moaning his name, begging him to push his dick deep inside her.

Amber Quill Press