Just An Accidental Pose

In broad daylight, her nonchalance is the ultimate provocation. Your invisible hand glides down her spine, feeling the brilliant magenta silk, then slides down to where her round ass, encased in baby pink silk pants, is pressed against a cold stone bench. You press your entire palm on it, feeling the violent contrast: the softness of flesh, the slickness of silk, and the coldness of stone. You grip tightly, fingers sinking deep, squeezing until the silk stretches to its limit, revealing the phantom outline of the secret within. An addiction to her scent arises, a wilder, more sophisticated hunger. You bury your face in the space just above the pink silk, inhaling the scent of sinful nonchalance: the clean fragrance of freshly laundered silk, heated by her flesh, blended with a hint of sweet pollen and sharpened by the mineral smell of the sun-baked stone. That scent is a command to torture. One of your imaginary hands continues to crush the pink silk, while the other sneaks into your pants, gripping your cock. You push yourself to the brink of eruption... then stop, looking around, forcing reason to claim a temporary victory. But then you inhale that scent again, letting instinct rise stronger, more brutal. You repeat this power play, turning her nonchalance into the stage for your own sweet torture, until you can bear it no more and allow yourself to roar in silence, a final, absolute victory.