Could you?

Could you just say something? Could you just speak and I will listen? Could you reach out a single digit tentatively and prod me? See what happens? Could you fumble with my pants: belt, buttons, hooks, zip; pull them down (disgracefully) around my ankles, a loose form of bondage? Could you take lascivious delight in diaphanous underwear: mesh, lace, always bows; that show a hint of hair beneath, but only a hint because you know there’s never much there? (Just enough to show I’m a woman but barely enough to be considered decent). Could you tug at my underwear with greedy hands, pulling it down in bursts of desire as it rolls to a bunch with my pants? Could you, because there isn’t much of an opening, push your fingers between my pussy lips: push, force, slide, stretch; until you find my wetness? Your fingers now slick, could you slide them towards my front to fumble for that nubbin of pleasure? Could you press there, flick there sending galvanic pulses through me? Could you make me shudder and moan and beg and ache and pant for more, please more, please fuck me please don’t stop don’t stop don’t oh god yes oh god I hate you love you love you love you. Oh. Could you do that for me?