Read Online Sinister Touch (erotica anthology) by V T Turner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: V T Turner
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down the inside of her thigh and continue upwards.
She let him at first, wondering if she would mind after all, but when his movements failed to excite even the remotest of interest in her, she brushed him off. The smile didn’t fade, even in the face of rejection. It wouldn’t fade for a few hours yet, until he topped it up with more synthetic joy.
She left her spot, told him she needed to go somewhere private to use the toilet. She walked until she found a man huddled in a shop doorway. He was young, no more than nineteen or twenty. His clothes newly tattered, he had only recently been forced out onto the streets. He was handsome, black hair down to his shoulders, thick stubble that covered the lower half of his face.
He gave her a warm and friendly smile when he saw her. She caught him looking at her body, saw the desperation in his eyes; it had probably been weeks or months since he had been with a woman.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He quickly shook his head, was still shaking it when she sat down and shuffled next to him.
He seemed uncomfortable around her, he was a drug user, possibly a heavy drinker, but he hadn’t been on either for too long. She had met people who had been living on the streets for decades, they had a toughness to them, a cynical, clinical view of the world. They took in their surroundings -- the people, the streets, the threats -- in an instant, without looking like they had even glanced at what was around them. This one was nervous, his eyes constant flitting around, suspiciously eyeing up every detail.
She didn’t need to introduce herself, nor did she care what his name was, or anything else about him. He was handsome, rugged, perfect. She took his hand, he flinched when he felt her fingers on his, but he allowed her to take it, allowed her to guide it.
She put it on her breast, let him feel the beating of her heart, the contours of her bosom. Then she slipped it up her jumper, allowing him to absorb the heat of her flesh, the excitement of her pert nipples.
He didn’t turn to look at her, just moved his fingers gently at first, as if scared of offending. He traced a circle around her nipple, following the bumps in her flesh like braille as they stood to attention. She guided him downwards, into her pants, onto her freshly shaven pussy, his fingers running smoothly over the flesh, enjoying he sensation as if for the first time. When he descended further, his cold fingers on her warm, wet sex, she pulled away, returned his hand to him.
He turned to her disappointed, a hint of apprehension in his eyes, as if expecting her to run away or slap him. She smiled softly, let him know that she would be doing neither, that she was there because of him, that she wanted him inside her. She moved towards him, hugged her body heat into his, locked together in a warm, tight embrace.
He was nervous that people were watching, kept an eye on the empty street as she set to work, oblivious and uncaring about what went on around her. She tore off his jacket, thrust a hand inside, pinning it to his chest. She could feel his heart beating heavy through the thin layer of muscle underneath his warm flesh, could sense the desperation in the rapidly pumping muscle.
She kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth, stealing his warmth, his taste. She moved her hand down, following a wispy trail of hair down to his stomach, ripping open his jacket and shirt as she drove the strong hand downwards.
He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands so she helped, using her free hand to directed his idle fingers onto her breast, ushering him into squeezing it before guiding him underneath her many layers, until his hand clasped her cold, stiff nipple. She peeled away, a sticky strand of saliva still joining their mouths. She gasped, opened her eyes and stared into his with a fiery eagerness and then kissed him
She let him at first, wondering if she would mind after all, but when his movements failed to excite even the remotest of interest in her, she brushed him off. The smile didn’t fade, even in the face of rejection. It wouldn’t fade for a few hours yet, until he topped it up with more synthetic joy.
She left her spot, told him she needed to go somewhere private to use the toilet. She walked until she found a man huddled in a shop doorway. He was young, no more than nineteen or twenty. His clothes newly tattered, he had only recently been forced out onto the streets. He was handsome, black hair down to his shoulders, thick stubble that covered the lower half of his face.
He gave her a warm and friendly smile when he saw her. She caught him looking at her body, saw the desperation in his eyes; it had probably been weeks or months since he had been with a woman.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He quickly shook his head, was still shaking it when she sat down and shuffled next to him.
He seemed uncomfortable around her, he was a drug user, possibly a heavy drinker, but he hadn’t been on either for too long. She had met people who had been living on the streets for decades, they had a toughness to them, a cynical, clinical view of the world. They took in their surroundings -- the people, the streets, the threats -- in an instant, without looking like they had even glanced at what was around them. This one was nervous, his eyes constant flitting around, suspiciously eyeing up every detail.
She didn’t need to introduce herself, nor did she care what his name was, or anything else about him. He was handsome, rugged, perfect. She took his hand, he flinched when he felt her fingers on his, but he allowed her to take it, allowed her to guide it.
She put it on her breast, let him feel the beating of her heart, the contours of her bosom. Then she slipped it up her jumper, allowing him to absorb the heat of her flesh, the excitement of her pert nipples.
He didn’t turn to look at her, just moved his fingers gently at first, as if scared of offending. He traced a circle around her nipple, following the bumps in her flesh like braille as they stood to attention. She guided him downwards, into her pants, onto her freshly shaven pussy, his fingers running smoothly over the flesh, enjoying he sensation as if for the first time. When he descended further, his cold fingers on her warm, wet sex, she pulled away, returned his hand to him.
He turned to her disappointed, a hint of apprehension in his eyes, as if expecting her to run away or slap him. She smiled softly, let him know that she would be doing neither, that she was there because of him, that she wanted him inside her. She moved towards him, hugged her body heat into his, locked together in a warm, tight embrace.
He was nervous that people were watching, kept an eye on the empty street as she set to work, oblivious and uncaring about what went on around her. She tore off his jacket, thrust a hand inside, pinning it to his chest. She could feel his heart beating heavy through the thin layer of muscle underneath his warm flesh, could sense the desperation in the rapidly pumping muscle.
She kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth, stealing his warmth, his taste. She moved her hand down, following a wispy trail of hair down to his stomach, ripping open his jacket and shirt as she drove the strong hand downwards.
He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands so she helped, using her free hand to directed his idle fingers onto her breast, ushering him into squeezing it before guiding him underneath her many layers, until his hand clasped her cold, stiff nipple. She peeled away, a sticky strand of saliva still joining their mouths. She gasped, opened her eyes and stared into his with a fiery eagerness and then kissed him
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