A grimy old warehouse wasn't the ideal spot for him to go down on her, but who was she to argue? She'd been dying for a slow hand all afternoon and today he'd have her sitting on an old bar stool with her head tilted back. As her eyes opened and closed they captured tiny pictures of the ceiling and the light fixtures above them. The slight flashes seemed like a dim, slow flashing strobe. He started with a playful touch to her inner thigh and not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she spread her legs slightly as to not impede his advances. He stopped and reached for a nearby milk crate to sit upon. Then... positioning himself before her, he traced at the backs of her knees with his fingers all the while relishing the fact that his tongue would dampen these same spots later.
She was beautiful. And cool.
Her eyes were the smoky, 3 am bar you just have to go into. Every time he looked in her direction, it was as if he was drinking away her very being. That's how badly he desired to consume her.
As he softly bit the inside of her thigh, his heart began to pump. He was excited beyond return trip by this point and his cock was bursting against the denim cage wrapped around it like a wild gorilla. Lately his attention was focused on the taste of her vagina and tonight he'd do good by himself to take a chomp. Lord knows, she wanted it in the worst way. Her body, a rag doll, for his contemptuous throws, was tossed into that special place where no fire could be extinguished. He felt it was best to let it burn.
