Free After Hours: Black Lace Classics by Crystalle Valentino Page B

really was. By the end of the evening, when the bra came off, a guy couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
    His little vampette was also a dyed blonde, but he didn’t mind at all that the hair on her head didn’t match that between her short but shapely legs. It was kind of sexy. She’d been hanging around outside the flats getting some air when he’d come out like thunder afterbeing blown out by Venny. And somehow she’d ended up in his four-wheeler, and he’d driven down to the coast, as he always did when he was pissed off.
    When he needed to stay over in London, he usually crashed out on Caspar and Flora’s couch, but last night he had felt the need for space, for distance, for freedom in which to think things through. And now here he was, him and his little vampette, and they’d had an enjoyable night – a very enjoyable night, in fact. And he didn’t even know what her name was. Nor, he realised, did he want to.
    ‘Come on.’ He held out a hand. ‘Let’s get cleaned up.’
    The vampette scampered out of the bed like a child after a treat, and they ran naked into the bathroom and into the shower stall. Micky switched on the hot water and found the vampette already stroking his erect cock as he reached for sponge and shower gel. It was one of those citrus-scented gels, the sort he loved, reminding him of sherbet lemon sweets from his childhood. He tipped a thick splodge of it onto the big natural sponge and started to soap the girl’s breasts. Enhanced or not, they were certainly eye-catching. He concentrated on her coffee-coloured nipples, giving them plenty of rubbing in varying degrees of pressure, from tiny tickles to hard presses. The vampette groaned and leaned back against the sea-green tiles of the stall, her hands still clamped upon his rigid penis, stroking and pushing in a way that promised a rapid descent into orgasm and sexual oblivion if he wasn’t very careful.
    He drew back a little to free his cock, which was already oozing a little drop of come from the slit at its tinglingly sensitive tip. Reluctantly she let him go, only to make a lunge for his balls with a roguish giggle. He liked a girl who could laugh during sex, although preferably not at too crucial a moment. He took deep calming breaths and thought of light bulbs while she kneaded the old love dumplings, cooing over them and whispering flattering little things about them.
    ‘They’re big,’ she whispered, and that was always a winner as far as he was concerned. Didn’t all men like women to comment on the huge dimensions of their sexual equipment? Of course they did.
    ‘Oh, they’re getting hard,’ she cooed.
    Hard was good. He liked hard, too – almost as much as big. It was getting difficult to concentrate on the light bulbs, though. He tried fluorescent tubes instead, but the tubes made him think about upright cocks, and then he looked at her beautifully enhanced breasts and felt her fingers lifting and fondling his balls, and he was done for.
    With a growl of releasing passion he lifted her up against the tiles and pushed her legs open with his hips. She wriggled a bit further up between him and the wall of the shower stall, eagerly angling herself to get the head of his penis aligned with her cunt.
    ‘Come on, lover, do me – do me now,’ she whispered excitedly, and Micky put the sponge aside and used his mouth instead on her delightful tits with their dark erect nipples while he used one hand to guidehimself to her. Oh, and she was so wet! So deliciously, wonderfully wet and welcoming again, soothing him like a balm and inflaming him too. This was better than eating oysters, better than caramel sauce on chocolate pudding. Now he realised he was thinking about food. And food wouldn’t help him hold back. It would only turn him on even more; it always did. Food and sex were inextricably linked, for him. Food and sex were all that mattered, when you got right down to fundamentals.
    ‘You like seafood?’ he panted