From: bgriffin@ic.sunysb.edu (Benjamin Griffin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Subject: smoke sworls
Date: 12 Nov 1995 18:02:11 GMT
Organization: rec.arts.erotica immoderation
Message-ID: <485cr3$foj@netaxs.com>

Archive-name: smoke-sworls



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.



Elijah

------

http://mathlab.sunysb.edu/~elijah/



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