To My Illicit Lover (revisited)

In my mind’s eye, you reading this alone at a bar or other public place. A smoky alto singing in faintly in the background. A good Pinot in one hand, this in the other.

*

Imagine you’re in a cool, candle-lit room.
      You are on a bed, eyes closed.
      Arms pulled up and out, grasping velvet ropes,
      Legs spread wide, invisible ropes pulling them to the corners of the bed.
      You hear my soft breathing as I drink in your nakedness.

Imagine a rose
      The heady smell as it flows over your eyelids and across lips.
      The touch of the rose as it softly traces your jaw, your neck, under your breasts.
      The feel of a thorn, as first it pricks one erect nipple, then the other.
             Is there a small, bright dot of scarlet? Would you need them licked, sucked, bitten?

Imagine the rose as it continues down your body.
             Do you giggle as it crosses your ribs?
             Does your breath come deeper and quicker?
      The petals as they circles your belly button. The softness tingling and teasing.
      The rose crossing one hip to the other across your bikini line, slowly, then back.
             Do your hips rise? Would you rather soft kisses?
      My soft breath moves over you, ephemeral, fleeting.

Imagine the feel of the rose caressing you just above one knee,
      Traveling up to the top of your thigh highs, lingering on your smooth inner thighs.
      How wanton and lewd and brazen you look to me, spread wide,
      The black silk contrasting with your creamy skin.
      How the room would smell, the candles, the rose, your rising heat.

Imagine me rolling you over gently to your stomach, face down,
      Spreading your arms and your legs again, completely surrendering yourself to the moment,
      Raising your ass, displaying its curves, giving me access.
      The rose on your neck again, tracing your form
      Down your shoulders, across your lower back, top of your butt.

Imagine the feel of the thorns as your ass is struck once, sharply.
      Do you scream, do you moan? Does the pain add to your pleasure, do you want more?

Imagine the rose again,
      Exploring the creases beneath your ass.
      Then down between your ass cheeks.
      My hand opening your cheeks, the rose grazing that other bud.
             Does your body need to be touched deeply and intimately and now? Does your core ache for physical contact?

Imagine being turned over once more:
      Your arms again seeking the ropes, your legs again splayed wide.
      This time, you can feel me between your legs, my knees forcing you wider.
             Do you feel my eyes on your sex?
      The soft velvet first tracing the arc across the smooth skin between your hips.
      Then lightly touching your pussy lips, up one side, down the other.
             Do your petals swell and spread, do your hips move up and down to the rhythm?

Imagine my hand on your sex, opening you up for the rose.
      Exploring your folds, caressing your clit, caressing your cunt.
      Both our entire beings absorbed by how your sweet body is reacting and moving,
The rose stroking and teasing, up and down, torturing your cunt with pleasure.

Imagine my hand releasing your cunt lips, the rose withdrawing.
      A pause, a moment, intensifying the longing.
      Then the rose back to your face.
      The rose to your lips
             Do you smell the rose? Your essence on the rose?
      Your pink serpent of a tongue reaching out, tasting you on the rose.

Imagine me taking your mouth, my body crushing your breasts, sliding deep into your cunt.

Imagine