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She walked in the house without speaking a word, her pneumatically pumped hips and tits rocking in a counterpoint of viciously quivering girl flesh. In a thin, tight, tank style t-shirt dress – neckline cut nearly to her deep brown areolas, hem a scant couple of inches past her flexing round ass – she was an almond skin, chocolate brunette fuckdoll. Fallon stood in silence against the kitchen counter as she passed through the room without so much as a sidelong glance, spike heels clicking crisply across the tile floor. He was already gone and he knew she was fully aware her entrance alone would take him down like a shot bird. When she dressed and made herself up like a plastic fuckdoll, he never had a chance. Lace’s firm, rounded ass swayed out the kitchen door into the living room, heading for the stairs. Her scent lingered in her wake. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It had been weeks since he’d breathed that scent. Scent of pure sin and rapture. Every time she went away, it left him standing on the edge of a dark, impossible void. He followed the trail of her scent out of the kitchen and upstairs. She was sitting on the foot of his bed, shimmering, brown legs crossed. The meat of her thigh and calf on the top leg bunched out. His throat felt constricted and he dug his fingernails into his palms. She still didn’t look at him, even though he was staring at her. Almost glaring. But she just sat gazing off at the corners of the room, spine perfectly straight and her large, heavy tits jutting forward, demanding attention. He wanted to say I told you so…it had been bound to happen again…but he didn’t. Finally, after interminable silence: “So…as I’m sure you’ve already figured out…it’s over with Deuce.” “Yeah,” he said, “I pretty much got that.” She stood up with the same, breast jutting posture she’d been sitting in. “Is this all I am, Daddy? Somebody’s plastic fuckdoll?” The dark, exotic look passed on from her Egyptian mother almost ruined the whole fuckdoll image. But not quite. She’d learned too well how to primp and pamper herself into the guise, and the raucous lines of her body turned the rest into a foregone conclusion. The whole gestalt of her existence said use me like an exquisite Göztepe escort bayan cum dump. He would’ve been happy enough to stand there looking at her until his prick went hard, but he finally approached, standing in front of her in a worn, old t shirt and jeans. He fingered back his light, brown hair, eyes on the light and shadow of her milk chocolate throat and collarbones. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and standing next to Lace he came off looking like an immaculate hobo. “You just think you want to be sometimes,” he said, putting his hand on her neck. “I mean…why not…you’re fucking perfect for it. You look like you were born to fuck. You make the most of it because you get thinking it’s one way to fly. Everybody loves a party girl, but you get bored. You’re like a junkie standing in line for a half-assed shot of methadone. And you know I’ll always be here for you – a dose of whatever all this means to you…and that fucks me up bad.” “Daddy, that’s mean.” He slid his hand down her neck and pulled the flimsy top of her dress down below her prodigious tits, her outsized mounds quivering to freedom. The warm palm of his hand grazed over the extravagant contours of her exposed skin. All the blood in his body began swimming toward his cock. “I hate when you call me that,” he said. But he wasn’t really thinking about what she said. He was thinking about the way his house was going to feel so empty after she was gone in the morning he’d feel the urge again to torch it and let it burn down. “Then why do you always cum so hard when I do?” she purred. Jesus Christ! but her lips curled into something that made centuries of painting, music and sculpture seem like an afterthought. Other than the excessive opulence of her body, her mouth was one of the few things he could look at and make him feel in touch with luxury. “You got a mouth like a spunk trough, little girl,” he said. The curl of her lips became a full blown smile and he kissed her before she could say anything more, squeezing her breast firmly, thumb back and forth across her hardening nipple, tongue curling into the wet core of her mouth. Kissing Lace always hit Fallon like the onslaught Escort Caddebostan of some sublime reality. It was like being shrouded in something secretive. When her tongue rode into his mouth and her breath rushed into his throat, he caught a sense of being in a home without walls. She was a dirty, passionate kisser. Her mouth was like a roiling cavern of hunger, betrayal and paradise. Fallon’s cock surged with heat as he drove into her humid mouth, gathering her obscenely outsized breasts into the firm grip of his large hands. Her hands slipped under his t shirt and traversed his taut skin. The pads of her fingers grazed him like dull points of silk dragging over his shape. Being touched by Lace always hit him like a throatful of opium smoke. Her usual M.O. was to be touched, rather than touch, as if touching someone back closed an unseen gap. He knew because he’d seen her in action with others. It was how they’d met. As their tongues swirled around each other and her nipples swelled into hardened knots under his clasping hands, Fallon flashed back on that first time he’d seen her. She was on her knees in the master bedroom of Charlie Summers’ house, a casual acquaintance of Fallon’s who was throwing a party. Charlie was lying back on his bed, eyes closed, moaning weakly while Lace’s head was bobbing up and down his excited cock. Fallon would never forget the graceful arch of Lace’s spine as she knelt on that carpet in a bright yellow thong, her extravagant breasts swaying free of the bikini top still tied around her neck and shoulder blades. Her posture was elegant as a lady sipping tea in a royal court. Her hands rested on Charlie’s thighs, never straying toward his tightly gathered balls. Charlie’s wife had been downstairs, chatting it up with other guests outside by their pool. Maybe she was going to get her own before the day was over, but Charlie was sure getting his. A few days later, when Fallon and Lace had met for a drink that first time, she’d laughed when she confessed leaving the door open had been her idea. She’d told Charlie the only way he was going to get his cock in her delectable mouth was if the door were wide open. Fallon had gone Bağdat Caddesi escort inside looking for a bathroom to use. When he saw them, he stopped, unable to look away. Charlie had been oblivious to everything but the exquisite lips steadily stroking his rigid shaft. Lace had spotted him standing in the doorway. She’d smiled with her eyes. Taunting. Defiant. Inviting. But she never stopped sucking. And somehow, even with Charlie Summer’s stiff cock in her mouth, Lace had this way of looking at Fallon that made him feel like the only man in the world, even if only for the span of time her eyes were on him. Fallon had gripped his cock, rubbing and squeezing his solid shaft through his pants while he and Lace locked eyes. It had felt as if her eyes were telling him this should be you. He watched her lips work Charlie’s wet shaft until he grabbed up two fists full of sheet, grunting as his portly body strained and poured the overflow of his cum into the delicate artwork of Lace’s sucking mouth. Her mouth and throat flexed along with the pulsing of Charlie’s eruption, leaving no visible sign of the gushing spurts she swallowed effortlessly. Fallon continued down the hall before Charlie could see him. He found the bathroom, and later, back in the midst of the party on the backyard terrace, he spotted Charlie speaking and laughing in a private corner with his wife. Amanda Summers had shot a pointed glance toward Lace, her outsized tits shoved back behind their small, triangular confines. Now, Lace’s nipples burned in Fallon’s twirling fingers. He rolled her nipples harder, shoving his tongue deeper into her mouth as he thought of the way she could take a man’s geyser of spunk down her throat like a thick bolt of warm honey. It was the easiest thing in the world to slip his cock into the mouth of a woman who truly wanted it there, but pushing your faces together and breathing the life from one another’s body was a wholly different proposition. Nothing was more intimate and obscenely personal than a hot, wet, tongue broiling kiss. She was pinching his nipples almost as hard as he was pinching hers. Then her palms were crossing over his skin. Meandering rivers of silken touch. She started opening his jeans, reaching inside to liberate his swollen cock from his briefs. He let go of her distended nipples and pushed the diaphanous excuse for a dress down over the curve of her hips. White thong. Pouting mound through the taut skin of clinging cotton/nylon blend. Cup of his large hand curling over the shape of her sex.

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