Your hands were the first thing I noticed about you. Strong, solid, rough hands. Not rough as in the opposite of soft – your touch could be soft if you wanted it to be – but almost rough as in powerful. Mighty.
The moment I felt your hands against my skin, I needed more. When you pulled down the zipper of my dress for the first time, your fingertips grazed my suddenly exposed skin, trailing down my spine to the small of my back. My dress fell to the ground and you set it aside.
I was left in just sheer black stockings with a panel of lace reaching the middle of my thighs, held up by garters attached to my matching black lace panties. Such pretty little things that served not much function other than to look pretty. I suppose that was fitting anyway, considering I served no function tonight but to look pretty for you; to please you in any way that you wanted me to. I smiled to myself with the thought, wanting to please you in every way possible. All because of those hands that I can’t stop thinking about now.