Makeup Artist

He watches as she pulls the stocking slowly up her thigh,
Wearing nothing but bits of steel, a twinkle in her eye,
She turns to her reflection, blood red lipstick at the ready,
Watching as it glides across her lips leaves him unsteady,
Her image in the glass blows him a playful, silent kiss,
He longs to cup her firm, smooth flesh and tease her twin chrome tips,
His stare is unrelenting as she darkens every lash,
Her smoky eyes return his gaze, bewitching, unabashed,
He imagines how it feels just where the silk and skin are met,
She knows his every thought for she enjoys his sweet torment.

She sits at a dressing table, the kind with the middle shelf low and a large mirror. She wears nothing but a pair of stockings and twin chrome nipple piercings. He's wearing only his suit pants; he was about to put on a shirt when he became mesmerized at the sight of her reflection. Her hair is caught up in a couple of combs, long curly locks flow down her back. She could be a pinup, a Vargas or Elvgren girl. He finds the rituals of eyeliner and mascara and lipstick highly erotic. She knows she has his complete attention. She can see his erection straining the front of his pants. She spreads her lags slightly, pushes her chest out just a bit. He comes over, gliding his fingertips across her shoulders, down her chest, circling her areola and teasing her piercings, all the while kissing the back of her neck. As she leans back into him, a hand slides down her belly, lower, lower... and then he feels her heat as he toys with the lace top of her stockings, before his fingers find her wet and waiting for him....