Duress

There is anger here; spinning you in my duress as I look down across your dress; the red spiraling falls escaping bare legs and the sensually touching taps of your heels against my senses. You've lifted my hand above your head so that you may spin in little pirouettes. Your shadow's stilettoed silhouette curtseying as if you were a marionette. I can feel the difference in the temperatures between each of our fingertips. The static between your breast and my chest as you slip in and press yourself against my lips, your arms falling around my neck while I slide one of my own to hold the small of your back. Then, one leg rises up the length of my slacks while the first heel falls undressed to my caress; as the rest of you, being ever released from my grasp.