The Party Dress

She stood before the mirror in the black dress, its cut so sharp it nearly touched bone. Tonight, she wanted someone to take it off her. She slipped one thin strap from her shoulder, then the other, the silk whispering down her arms. Beneath it waited the sheer lace lingerie—white against her pale skin. The dress pooled at her hips before falling to the floor. She traced the lace with her fingertips, letting the fabric stretch over her small breasts, then lower, exposing the narrow curve of her waist. Her blonde hair spilled over one shoulder as she arched, watching her reflection. One hand slipped beneath the lace. She touched herself slowly, deliberately, the way she hoped a stranger might. The heat between her legs grew slick. She pressed two fingers against her clit, circling, breathing through parted lips. Her other hand cupped her breast, pinching the nipple through the lace. She spread her legs wider, the muscles in her thighs tightening. A soft moan escaped her. Her fingers moved faster now, slick with her own wetness, chasing the edge she could feel rising. The warning flashed across her thoughts—anal scenes—and the idea made her ass tighten in anticipation. She reached behind, pressing a fingertip to the tight ring, circling it while her other hand worked her clit harder. Her body trembled as she edged closer, the dress crumpled at her feet, the lingerie twisted and damp. She bit her lip, held the breath, then let it break into a sharp cry as the orgasm hit, hips jerking, fingers buried deep.