Preparing, I nervously begin dressing, wrapping myself for you to unwrap.

The panties, nothing more than a swatch of cloth and strings, enfolding my flower for you to unwrap.

Next came the garter belt. You had said nothing about that, but I hoped you would like them, carefully sliding the stockings up that you might lovingly slid them down.

I carefully slipped on the pushup bra, whose low tops hinted at the nipples hidden beneath, the nipples I imagined you taking in your mouth and nipping with your teeth.

The denim miniskirt, the lack of length clearly displaying the tops of my stockings, showing you what was yours to take. The top riding low around my slender hips, slender like a nymph's or a fairy's.

Then the top, the hem stopping well above the skirt, my navel with the symbolic flower flashing in the light, the sapphire in contrast to your blinding white diamond. The deeply cut top showing my breasts with a bit of lacy bra peeking over the top. The breasts your lips had caressed so lovingly.

My makeup was soft and light, a little blue shadow to highlight my eyes, just enough mascara and liner to bring them forth, to draw you in. Just a bit of gloss on my lips for you to taste, pink and sweet, my tongue waiting for yours behind their open portals.

The shoes, leather straps really, nothing at all except the heels to lift my face closer to yours.

As I brushed my hair into shining blonde waves tumbling around my breasts, I imagined you once again taking it in your hands and lifting me up . . . .

Then I waited, waited for you, my queen, to take me in your arms, to pluck my flower and inhale deeply of its fragrance. Your touch, tender and forceful. Your tongue, tasting me. Your teeth nibbling at my ear. I tremble with eagerness, a race horse waiting for my lover to ride me to our mutual triumph.

I waited . . . .