posed for her own
enjoyment. The devoré cascaded over her body and slithered down her
legs, gathering in a verdant puddle at her feet. Her trainers
looked all wrong, so she unlaced them and stepped into a pair of
court shoes dug out from under the table. This was better, the
heels adding to the length of leg seen through the semi-transparent
material.
'Brunettes
suit green,' she heard Blake say, and she frowned, annoyed by the
way the memory of him made her clit throb.
Her hand
wandered down to her dark pubes and traced over the slit between
them. Her pulse raced and she shifted position, opening her legs
slightly, braced on those elegant, impractical heels. Her labial
lips were swollen with need. She eased her finger up and down,
lifting the fabric so that she didn't stain it with her juice.
Pleasure welled in her loins, fanning out in her womb. She fingered
her nipples with her other hand, loving the way they lifted the
velvet as they peaked. Slowly, she pushed it aside, baring breasts
and pubis, caressing the soft hairy lips and petting her protruding
clit-head.
She eased back
the tiny fleshy cowl that guarded the ultra-sensitive tip and
wetted it with the dew welling from her vulva, working round it,
watching herself in the mirror, wanting the feeling to last. It was
too good, however, the urge for completion too strong. She couldn't
help massaging it firmly.
She gasped,
moaned, twisted her head from side to side, fingers plucking at her
nipples, first one then the other, as her middle digit moved in
swift arousal of her clitoris. She closed her eyes, bright light
blazing against the blackness of her lids, a roaring in her ears as
her climax welled over. It lifted her to glory and she was totally
into it, part hidden by a screen that separated her from the long
cutting table, the sewing machines, the rails of garments and
shelves filled with materials.
She nearly
jumped out of her skin when a man stepped into sight,
wolf-whistling quietly as he admired her. 'Eugene!' she gasped.
'You scared the hell out of me!'
'Sorry, baby, but wow , that's classy!' he exclaimed, his
eyes filled with that bubbling sense of humour which made him so
good to be with him - Eugene Cooper, their link was a strictly
professional one, to date.
'My treat to
myself,' she replied, a spasm of renewed heat warming her pussy
when she realised he had been watching her masturbating. She
glanced down and saw the thick bough of his cock straining against
his stonewashed jeans. It was exciting to know he'd been getting a
hard-on seeing her playing with herself.
'Sure, and why
not?' he agreed, and came closer, staring over her shoulder at
their mutual reflection.
He was tall
and broad, spending his free time at the gym. Dark-eyed and
dark-haired, his genes where not entirely British, despite his
cockney accent. He wasn't exactly handsome, but had striking
features, white teeth and an infectious grin. A market trader, he
had recently approached her with an offer to sell any of her
leftover clothes. He had a van and an 'in' to most of the major
London markets. From the start he'd made no bones about the fact
that he wanted to screw her, and now she felt herself being borne
along on an unstoppable tide of lust.
She looked
into his mirror-image eyes and said, 'I'd better get dressed. I'm
supposed to be finishing a job,' but she made no move to leave
him.
Instead, she
pressed back and brushed her hips against his muscled belly. His
response was an automatic lift of the pelvis, bringing the solid
bar of his prick in line with her bottom crease. She wriggled and
his arms clamped round her waist, pulling her closer, one hand
snaking over her shoulder to cup a breast.
She sighed,
watching them in the mirror, like a voyeur getting kicks from
seeing a couple fornicating.
'Yummy,' he
returned, and nipped her ear.
Shards of ice
trickled down her spine and she could feel further moisture pooling
at her opening, already wet from orgasm. Eugene's cock
enjoyment. The devoré cascaded over her body and slithered down her
legs, gathering in a verdant puddle at her feet. Her trainers
looked all wrong, so she unlaced them and stepped into a pair of
court shoes dug out from under the table. This was better, the
heels adding to the length of leg seen through the semi-transparent
material.
'Brunettes
suit green,' she heard Blake say, and she frowned, annoyed by the
way the memory of him made her clit throb.
Her hand
wandered down to her dark pubes and traced over the slit between
them. Her pulse raced and she shifted position, opening her legs
slightly, braced on those elegant, impractical heels. Her labial
lips were swollen with need. She eased her finger up and down,
lifting the fabric so that she didn't stain it with her juice.
Pleasure welled in her loins, fanning out in her womb. She fingered
her nipples with her other hand, loving the way they lifted the
velvet as they peaked. Slowly, she pushed it aside, baring breasts
and pubis, caressing the soft hairy lips and petting her protruding
clit-head.
She eased back
the tiny fleshy cowl that guarded the ultra-sensitive tip and
wetted it with the dew welling from her vulva, working round it,
watching herself in the mirror, wanting the feeling to last. It was
too good, however, the urge for completion too strong. She couldn't
help massaging it firmly.
She gasped,
moaned, twisted her head from side to side, fingers plucking at her
nipples, first one then the other, as her middle digit moved in
swift arousal of her clitoris. She closed her eyes, bright light
blazing against the blackness of her lids, a roaring in her ears as
her climax welled over. It lifted her to glory and she was totally
into it, part hidden by a screen that separated her from the long
cutting table, the sewing machines, the rails of garments and
shelves filled with materials.
She nearly
jumped out of her skin when a man stepped into sight,
wolf-whistling quietly as he admired her. 'Eugene!' she gasped.
'You scared the hell out of me!'
'Sorry, baby, but wow , that's classy!' he exclaimed, his
eyes filled with that bubbling sense of humour which made him so
good to be with him - Eugene Cooper, their link was a strictly
professional one, to date.
'My treat to
myself,' she replied, a spasm of renewed heat warming her pussy
when she realised he had been watching her masturbating. She
glanced down and saw the thick bough of his cock straining against
his stonewashed jeans. It was exciting to know he'd been getting a
hard-on seeing her playing with herself.
'Sure, and why
not?' he agreed, and came closer, staring over her shoulder at
their mutual reflection.
He was tall
and broad, spending his free time at the gym. Dark-eyed and
dark-haired, his genes where not entirely British, despite his
cockney accent. He wasn't exactly handsome, but had striking
features, white teeth and an infectious grin. A market trader, he
had recently approached her with an offer to sell any of her
leftover clothes. He had a van and an 'in' to most of the major
London markets. From the start he'd made no bones about the fact
that he wanted to screw her, and now she felt herself being borne
along on an unstoppable tide of lust.
She looked
into his mirror-image eyes and said, 'I'd better get dressed. I'm
supposed to be finishing a job,' but she made no move to leave
him.
Instead, she
pressed back and brushed her hips against his muscled belly. His
response was an automatic lift of the pelvis, bringing the solid
bar of his prick in line with her bottom crease. She wriggled and
his arms clamped round her waist, pulling her closer, one hand
snaking over her shoulder to cup a breast.
She sighed,
watching them in the mirror, like a voyeur getting kicks from
seeing a couple fornicating.
'Yummy,' he
returned, and nipped her ear.
Shards of ice
trickled down her spine and she could feel further moisture pooling
at her opening, already wet from orgasm. Eugene's cock
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