mf oral


From a discrete pocket in her black leather bustier she removes a
silver-toned cigarette case. She takes one out and returns the case to the
folds of leather. From the distance the brand of the coffin stick is not
apparent, but by its color it is obviously not a big name brand. Her hands
are very white, the slender fingers tipped with long vibrant red nails.
These elegant fingers of one hand bring the cigarette to bee-stung lips of
matching red hue while those of the other hand pull a mirror-finish Zippo
from the waist of a tight black leather miniskirt. In a graceful flip of an
unadorned wrist the lighter is aflame. She holds the glow up to the dark rod
and takes a deep puff. Her chest fights against the second skin and her
breasts look like they will burst forth from the black cups. Her alabaster
cheeks are puffed in, the pale face is elongated changing slightly the curve
of the painted-in eyebrows. The cigarette glows in its fiery life. Quickly
the lighter is concealed from whence it came. That motion shows the faint
brown hair across the smooth skin of the arm calling to mind the women of
Prufrock. The sworls of smoke she exhales dance and writhe in the air in
ways even her waifish body would struggle to mimic. Attention drifting, a
geometric blackwork tattoo on her far hip becomes a focus point. From there
the navel in a full hand-span of midriff looks tempting, the swirling smoke
now hazing the view. The belly button is a deep narrow slit that would look
delightful even without the niobium ornamentation. Defying expectations the
smoke drifts further south dragging the eye down to legs shaped by the the
high thigh suede boots with heel of humbling hight. The laces are as thick
as ribbons and their wide span across the shin looks more like bondage than
closure. Eyes floating back up again, a faint scar on the left knee drifts
into consciousness and serves well as leg lover's beauty mark. Up further
still the lower edge of a skirt is hiked up so that it is not clear if the
protrusion from underneath it should be tame or tantalising. The smoke has
drifted into the ambient air allowing the scent of cloves to be noticed.
Attention returns the cigarette and the surrounding scenery. Her face, no
longer distorted, is slim and simple, the make-up is sparse and subtle, it
could almost be an art deco piece. The nose has a delicate curve to it that
so few women ever manage even with surgery. The visible ear has a rim of
steel rings protruding as evenly and thoroughly as dogteeth on a gear. The
hair is very short revealing a shapely skull and vies her leather for the
depth of blackness.

I come out of the shadows and I know she now sees me but there is no change
in her relaxed posture or quiet puffs. I approach her and she hands off the
cigarette as I reach for it. As I bring the lipstick tainted filter to my
mouth, hers is gnawing at my crotch and her hands open the fly. My soft
shaft tattooed round with a spiral like a spring begins bobbing into life.
While still small she can fit the flesh all in her mouth but her sensual
grip on my sack and teasing of my guiche quickly correct the matter. My slow
puffs of the clove smoke contrast her fast-moving mouth on my rod. The steel
ball of a barbell in her tongue keeps me from becoming absorbed in the feel
of her throat on my glans. The smoke I exhale sinks down and curls around
her head in a sinful halo. I reach down with one hand and slip my fingers in
her top and pinch the nipple and squeeze the breast in time to her rhythm.
The cigarette is drawing to an end as my loins prepare to give up their
fluid. I flick the the butt away just upon exploding in her hot mouth. She
continues for a few minutes more sucking upon me like an infant at a teat.
Then she pulls back from my softening sabre to stand again. My hands go down
to her crotch to feel the hairless nethers. Our mouths meet and our tongues
penetrate each other allowing me to savor my own flavor. A finger of mine
dons a ring it finds suspended in the triangle so that I may better tug at
it. My turgidness looses its haste to leave crushed as it is against smooth
leather of her skirt. Her arms are around me digging nails in my neck and
back as I move one hand to grapple her callipygian pygal.

The last light of the day is fading behind a tree in the distance as we
begin another night.