Excerpt from "Chemistry"
He took another toke and held it, closing his eyes. His expression was beatific. He reminded her of some hairy elf, or perhaps a giant, grizzled teddy bear. The smell of pot smoke drowned out the incense. Kit felt dizzy.
Frank stubbed out his joint. "Stand up -- what's your name?" His voice was soft, dreamy.
"What's that short for?"
"Oh, I like that much better. It suits you. I've always thought that ladies should have long, intricate names, names that dance on your tongue. Stand up, Katerina. Please. Let me look at you."
She felt brief indignation. Nobody told her what to do. Yet she obeyed, coming to her feet in front of him, so close, too close, the reach of bare skin between her top and shorts inches from him. She was light-headed, not herself.
"Katerina," he whispered. Then he reached out and grasped her buttocks, pulling her to his face.
His beard was softer than it looked, tickling her. For a moment he simply held her, breathing in, inhaling her as if she were another drug. Suddenly there was shocking wetness. His tongue circled her navel, dipped inside. Her sex clenched in a sudden, delicious spasm. He lapped in widening circles, then traced a wet path up her sternum. When he reached her bra, he deftly peeled back the stretchy material to expose her small breasts. He fastened his mouth on one swollen nipple. Kit moaned, embarrassed by her sudden need.
He sucked at her till the node of flesh was unbearably tender. Just when she couldn't bear any more, he switched to the other breast, strumming the rigid bead at its tip while her clit vibrated in sympathy.
"Oh, please...", she sighed. Her shorts were sticky and uncomfortable. She wanted them off. Frank paused and smiled at her. "Just a moment, Katerina, if you can be patient. I have something for you."
He scurried off to the glass display case, a comic figure, his shorts slipping down his hips to expose his furry butt. Her belly and breasts were soaked with his saliva.
Kit shuddered, desire mixed with revulsion. How could she let this smelly, hairy, untidy, old -- anachronism -- touch her? But God, it felt so good. Her cunt was sopping. Her pussy scent overwhelmed the smell of pot. I should go, she told herself, get out of here while I can. But Frank was back now, pulling her bra over her head, fastening a delicate silver chain around her waist. He eased her shorts over her hips. She kicked off her shoes, and he shimmied the lycra garment down to her ankles and off.
Kit stood before him, naked except for the ornamental chain. The silver strands brushed, ghostly, against her sensitized skin. Frank licked his lips. His eyes burned blue as gas flames; she basked in the heat of his obvious lust.
"Oh, yes," he breathed. "I thought that would suit you. Yes indeed..." His fingertips traced an airy path across her skin, touching but not touching, setting up currents that caressed her throat, her breasts, her belly, the smooth mound between her legs.
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