She wore a black outfit—all black. Not too short, but above the knee. The stockings were completely sheer. So much so it looked as if she wore none. She sat in her usual chair. She looked absolutely beautiful. She had a way of making her legs look really long. She crossed them to one side. Occasionally, she'd shift her weight here and there. Then she'd cross the leg the other way. She wore the most adorable shoes: Black and pointy. They made her feet look small. Her hair was worn parted at the side a bit. It was curly. Her make-up looked flawless: Perfect eyebrows; lipstick in just the right shade. When she smiled, her teeth looked even whiter. And when she was serious, there was intensity in her eyes. Ah, the cruelty of watching her and never touching, of speculating the softness of her skin and never feeling it. Of being in torment over her fragrance, although never getting quite close enough to smell her … imagined goose-bumps and soft shivers of pleasure—risen nipples … sending ripples … of fire … awakening desire … the kind one would never tire of.