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By *allduke OP Man
over a year ago
Barnet |
The searing heat of summer on the underground can bestow and conjure the most salacious of thoughts, and it was an evening that was still as hot like a samovar, when my very own Madame Clos emerged from the fire. I had always wanted to be Georges Du Roy to his Clos.
A non-descript day at work, with blue-sky thinking parked for now, thank the lord. Covent Garden was the stop, a station said to be haunted by the actor William Terris - who came to a rather unfortunate and grim end.
The way Clos appeared was altogether more warm, warm yet alluring. A graceful walk, the sheen of the hosiery and the proud arch of the heel stood out on the carriage like fresh lilac and butterflies in the summer.
Heels were as dark and black as the night sky, the lips as red and soft like roses. Raven of lock, flowing like the Danube and skin so rich and warm, it matched her sweet scent. The tights glistened in tan and covered every inch of those beautiful legs that would have made Nijinsky proud.
My height perhaps caught her eye. The broad shoulders encased in a v neck black t-shirt with tattoos on either side of the neck inviting someone as aromatic and sharp as Clos.
We stood, a matter of inches away, clinging to the luminous yellow rail. My grey, almost skin-like tight fitting trousers moulded around my shiny cock head. Almost as if it was eager to get out - coaxed out of its warm habitat to feel the touch of a gliding hand.
Clos had inched closer, arching her back from her spine upwards with a feline grace and nestled into my groin. The spine is the seat to the soul as Virginia Wolf once wrote.
She sensed the angle of the eight-inch member, in all its proudness and veiny splendour, and was hungry to get closer. The dark skirt needed to be hitched up to showcase the fabulous hosiery, but for now, the smooth feel starting to work at the tip of my cock felt as if I had been touched and anointed by gods.
Motioning downwards, she guided the thickness down with her, almost as if her pale skin and fingers as slim as coins, were touching and gliding over it. I imagined her tongue rolling around the eye, the hole eager to be flicked and explored. A light flick in quick motion felt like a marble swimming in oil to me at that precise moment.
Under the golden hosiery, she clearly had gotten damp. Damp and sticky, that anticipatory clear juice as a prelude to her proud clit that must have felt like it a mixing bowl waiting to be stirred.
Did anyone see? Her thighs moved in a tremendous hipsway, and yet she still held her grace. My cock head was purple, or at least
it felt like it was, as she worked around and almost nibbled it with the parting of her backside.
We were fast approaching Euston, my stop. Was it hers? Can we find a secluded alleyway, dimly lit like a serpentine's cave for her to pull her tights down to reveal the folds of that warm, rich cunt?
I departed, knowing I will see my Clos again. Pre cum had morphed into oyster-like secretion. Clos had annointed her Du Roy until their next meeting.
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