her pretty pursed lips

Seated beside me, isolated from the cacophonous chaos continuing to erupt from the bright glow of the bar, across the emptiness of a nearly abandoned lot, Silver closed her eyes and slowly lifted her skirt to scratch gently at the soft crease cotton shrouded at the join of pale thighs. Sighing softly, she reached over to take a slender joint from my fingers. A bright orange cherry glowed with the slowly sucking intake of her pretty pursed lips, full breasts lofted upwards, the eternal feminine, nipples bulging as she held her hit indefinitely, breathless as she offered the smouldering weed stick back to the pinch of my nimble grasp, smiling in the pained refusal to release the smoky intoxicant from the fortress of her lungs until a sudden gasp erupted in a thick cloud of sweet grey. She laughed and tickled her cunny mindlessly.

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in fiction, literature, novels, personal, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to her pretty pursed lips

  1. This was phenomenal. Very descriptive, I felt like I was there for that sepiternal breath!

  2. TheRickhitch says:

    A game of words. Wonderful.

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