The Coat

It wasn’t so much the smell of her that you remembered. It was the way her hips rolled with promise and her dimples burned through your composure with ease.

The coat. Aged fur, suffocating in her scent. It sits on her shoulders meekly, skimming her hips until it reaches her knees and then decides to kick out with flirt. She shakes it gently to release the winter’s night and straightens up the collar around the nape of her neck. Stepping into the room she catches your eye. She had promised to unravel you.

Taking a seat on the desk opposite you, she crosses her legs, slowly, painfully, she knows – she knows of your wants and the utopia you need. The coat succumbs and falls from her thigh. She smiles, “You’re mine now.”

She stands. Tracing the neckline of the coat with her fingers, she unhooks the top clasp, and then the next. A hither of flesh peeks through and then it comes – a turn in your stomach and growth in your groin. She’s naked underneath, surely not! She drops the coat from her shoulders, it feathers to the floor without a sound and you breathe. Pulling in air sharply, the room swims and swirls around you.

She steps forward, her stilettos leading the way “Let go,” she purrs.

For a single moment you feel the world slip away, and every ounce of worry along with it.

Seduce you was her only intent, and you had no fight left.

“Oh Harper,” you whimper.




(The Coat Fantasy available upon request)

Harper Jones