Samantha

Women like me love to be desired by men. They love to count how many men want them. They can have any man they want given the right place at the right time. I love this feeling.

You might meet me at an elegant cocktail party, given at a well-appointed country house. Elbow-length gloves, a long, flowing silk evening dress, my hair carefully coifed and my face made up for evening seduction, I will seem to your eyes the ultimate in chic femininity. But I will only respond to those who see the fire in my eyes, who can sense the heat, feel the desire that emanates from between my legs.

Breathe in the scent of my lust, for there will be no words, only knowing glances as I silently lead you to a quiet part of the house, to a room far from the crowd. As you lock the door behind you and turn to face me, you will see me raising my skirt to my waist, revealing my intricate lingerie, all lace and straps and clasps, sheer black nylons and high-heeled shoes. My eyes will meet yours as I stand smiling naughtily before you Ð holding my skirt high with both hands, exposed, naked, haughty and beautiful.

You kiss me and my lips and tongue melt into yours as your hand slides gently down to my crotch, across the soft ridge of my mons, feeling the thick, silken hair of my pussy beneath your palm, hearing me moan softly as your fingertips tease my stiff, swollen clit, feeling my body spasm and hearing the soft wet noises your fingers make sliding into my wet hole of wanton delights.