From a tropical clime comes the picture.

Palm trees, a white picket fence, visible, just beneath the rear view mirror.

In the mirror?

Her right hand.  The middle finger, bent, her lips enveloping it, just to the first knuckle.

Her lips?

Red, perfectly, delicately painted.

I would guess her face is as slender as her body, but the photo stops above her top lip, below her nose, including only a little more than the lower right quadrant.

And her body?  Hard to know – I’ve only seen her ass, her waist, her hips, her thighs.

Her ass, though: it’s tiny, heart-shaped (why are there no better adjectives than this one?).

Her waist is unimaginably small.  I think.

Her hips flare out delightfully – they form a perfect place to grab, to pull her against me.



I had titled this post “Dominance at a Distance.”  I thought I had posted it weeks ago.

She pointed out to me  (with some – justifiable – venom) this wouldn’t be the first post with that title.

The funny thing?  If it had been published when I thought it had?  It would have been.

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