The modern world adorns her.
The delicate, ephemeral things she wears for me, that sheath her skin and shape her flesh,
The scent of her perfume, a heady mix of unspoken implication and calculated temptation.
The colours and highlights that accentuate her eyes and lips and cheeks.
The deep, lustrous shine of carmine on her nails.
The modern world adorns her.
And yet the effect such artifice has is anything but modern for deep inside me stirs the familiar primal urges of the animal. Blood surges in my veins, my breathing deepens and, though I am almost wholly unaware of the fact, my hands clench and relax, clench and relax at my sides. I drink her in, bathing in the assault she makes on my senses.
The fragile shell of restraint and honour and civility that I've surrounded my basest desires with begins to weaken and crack. Their time is passing fast, the ravenous cold and red eyes of the beast burning out from the darkness of my soul. Cruelty briefly surfaces inside me, like a black fin in a calm ocean, hinting at what lays under the placid waters.
My nostrils flare, devouring the air that carries her scents to me. I close my eyes and sift through them; blanketing everything is that perfume, thick and cloying, a flashing neon light calling out where a beckoning finger would be infinitely more pleasing to the senses.
And yet it cannot disguise everything. Underneath it I detect the simple, unfussy soap she used when she bathed for me. It has an effect on me that her choice of perfume can never inspire. She smells clean and fresh and pure, unsullied almost, like nature made flesh. The beast licks its lips, thick hair bristling along dark flanks.
Perfume then soap and then underneath all of that, hiding like prey, is the scent of her arousal. From the midnight depths comes the low, keening howl of need only I can hear and only I can feel.
'Are you ready to serve me?' I whisper, calloused fingers running through silken hair.
