http://www.mrdouble.com



                     Goddess of Passion

    He saw her standing under the lights of a seedy tavern,
looking forlorn.  He pulled over, not completely understanding the
impulses that led him to do so, in order to see her more clearly.
She was cute, maybe 19 or 20, with honey-red hair and green eyes.
She was wearing a tight black leather sheath dress, and obviously had
nothing on underneath.  Her five-inch spiked heels were digging into
the mud as she stood in the light drizzle.  He sighed.  He always was
one for strays.  He rolled down his window and called to her.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he hollered, "do you need a lift?"
    Her eyes shone with gratitude as she stepped on some firmer
patches of ground to get to the car.  Once she began moving, he
ascertained that his earlier assumption regarding her underclothes was
correct.  The upper half of the dress left little to the imagination,
and the lower skirt portion was slit from knee to hip.  He moaned,
his imagination running wild with possibilities.
    He saw her, stripping off her dress, revealing firm, young
breasts eager for the touch of experienced hands.  The mound of her
sex was shaved, smooth, and already glistening with excitement.
She leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth, her fingers brushing
against the swelling in the front of his trousers.  She leaned over,
taking the purple head of his shaft deep into her mouth, as his
fingers found their way onto, and into her warm, inviting vagina.
She moaned around his shaft, making sure it was good and wet, before
swinging her leg over him, and sliding slickly down the length until
he touched bottom . . .
    <CLICK> - The car door opened, letting in a gust of cold air
and rain.  She slid inside (he nearly had a heart attack when her
skirt moved like that - barely noticing that his assumption about her
hair was wrong) and shut the door. "Thank you," she said, her voice
rich and husky, "it's cold out there."
    He shivered as she spoke, his mind conjuring up images of her
lying in front of his fireplace, nude, speaking to him . . .
"Oh, God, yes," she was saying, "more, give me more."
He thrust his shaft deeper into her nest of fiery red curls
and ground his teeth together.  Her nails were raking tracks across
his buttocks.  She was so hot ... so tight ...
    "So," he said, "where are you going?"
    She smiled.  "Wherever you'd like to drop me off.  I need to
locate a place to stay, and if you know of one ..."
    He stumbled over himself trying to offer one of the rooms of
his house. She looked at him for a long moment, then acquiesed.
    Driving home, vague thoughts of seduction flickered through
his mind.
Her lying in the tub, bobbing up and down on his engorged manhood.
Setting her on the table, filling her lap with whipped cream and
having a midnight snack.  Her reaching her hand out, and touching him,
all over, moving closer to his . . .
    He nearly leaped through the windshield when she reached out
her hand and touched his leg.
    "I was wondering," she said, her hand moving in small circles
along the inside of his thigh, "just how I'm going to be able to repay
you?" He smiled as his house drew nearer, and he began to loosen his
tie. "Oh," he said, shuddering as her hand found the lump in his
pants, "I'm sure we'll think of something."
.



 
