Joined: 19 Apr 2007
Here, uh i found this in a book...
A woman is standing on a porch, looking out at the hills. She is singurlarly beautiful.
She is twenty-nine years old, and men openly gawk at her. "Is there any coffee left?" A
man's voice calls from inside somewhere. She tosses her cold dregs into the yard. "I'll
make some more. But get up, I've got a long day ahead of me." "I've got some time," the
unseen man replies. "You don't," she reproaches him, calling back ino the house, "you have
to leave when I do, you can't be here by yourself." Feet slapping the floor. The sound of
piss splashing against the side of the bowl. She goes inside, runs water from the tap into
the coffee pot. Cowboy coffee is what she's making: throw the grinds into the pot and boil
the water. Tastes good enough and it's fast. I guess a quickie is out of the question,"
the man calls to her from where he's finishing his leak. "You guess right," she tells him,
her voice nothing but serious. She pours two cups, black, and goes outside again. The man
who comes out onto the porch and stands next to her is younger than she is, about
twenty-one, lean and muscular like a swimmer, with a thick head of dirty blonde hair. He's
naked, his light body-hair covering his chest like a fur. He slips his hand under the
rumpled man's shirt she slept in, runs his fingers along the ridge of her back. "Stop,"
she tells him, "this can wait." :Sure it can," he responds, the hand moving around to the
front, caressing a nipple, then nonchalantly dropping to her pussy, massaging it
casualling as sratching an itch. "But why?" He drops to his knees, burying his face in her
vagina, eating her. A long moan escapes from her throat, an involuntary exhaling of
pleasure. They fuck standing, his hands her ass to elevate her. Gripping the back of his
head, the veins in her forearms throb as she comes.
I kind of hoped you enjoyed it. House of Smoke by: J.F. Freedman
i ♥ the O F F I CE ! ! !