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Pandora ~ Temptations Allure 


 A fallen Shoe

Seated. Silent. Still you watch me. Your eyes flow along the curve of my ankle. I see within them, what you do not speak. I can taste the scent of your desire. Words form in paragraphs of  introduction, then are abandoned as my fingers caress my calve. The dangling shoe falls to the floor, you all but flinch at the sound. No movement. No beckoning, unless it is by the cock of your jaw or the pregnant space that seperates your palm...  from my thigh. 

The guise is set. I reach down to retreive the fallen shoe. A crystal pearched on a thin wire of gold nestles itself comfortably in the softness you are suddenly intimately introduced to. Seperations are now chasms to forray as the voice paints itself onto your nerves and sinews. A sirens song, is a 'hello'. : The advantage lost willingly, then innocently sought to regain. Scented wrists bent forward when, fingers cradle clavicle right then. Thinnest gold, encircling the ankle, brushes against the knight errant's skin. A curl of deepest rust falls victim to the bent shoulder of your succor, closeness invents bravery, intimacy of strangers electrified then.

The toe is not content to become a captive once more. Slowly as eyes stray, it traces the inside of your wrist, pushing buttons while the curl claims its prize. Locked now without chains, the wanton curl dresses your bicep in her brazen caress. Softly the scent deepens, humanity's joining call succulently engraves the invitation for your closeness. Signals welcome you, with a tremble of a finger resting against your shoulder, or a quiver of a lip, offering a thank you, even the deepening timbre, of an already angora muse. Lips are full, sweet. The warmth radiates into his mouth as liquid being poured. The hair caresses each nerve and like a general, calls them to rapt attention.

 Pulse. Rhythm. Each pounding of your own heart is in perfect symetry of mine. Womanly curves slip into the puzzle pieces of your body, and the moment is found with nothing wanting. The shoe falls to the floor once more. . . 


...( to be continued ) 


I am grateful to the work of J Waterhouse for the picture of the woman on this page. 

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Chantaclair's Parlor Designs © 1999 ; 2000; 2001
Marsha Rose
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This site updated March 23, 2001
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