Mystery

"Hiya, lover," she said with a voice as throaty as any phone sex operator. She wet her sculpted lips, made it seem her cigarette was a surrogate for a cock. "So glad you could join us."

Speech was a struggle. He felt as if he was drowning, drowning in warmth and wetness, engulfed by faint moans and dreamy hisses of pleasure. "Lisa . . . How . .? Who . .?"

"Don't fret your pretty little head about that, Bobbie," the voice of lust in his ear hissed. "Liz has to go to work now. Just relax. Just feel good. Feel good all over. I'll take really good care of you."

Really, he was more than happy to fall into the dream.

The blonde strutted from the salon fifteen minutes later, this time having to stop at the front mirror and repair her smeared lipstick. Tonight, her tits bounced freely under a semi-transparent red silk blouse, tucked into a micro skirt so short the tops of her mesh hose was displayed with every stilettoed stride. Her cunt was so wet it oozed fragrance down her thighs. Her ass was lubed and ready. It was going to be a good night. She had four dates lined up and, since she could work longer hours now, she could probably turn a couple more tricks, too. Her long nipples grew even harder with her boss's sibilant reassurance that the dream didn't need to end anymore.

Forty-five minutes later, another blonde traipsed from the bowels of the salon. This one carried a box of roses, was a little taller, a little more lithe, but nonetheless a mobile sex machine. Her green eyes were slightly more dreamy, but captivatingly beautiful nonetheless. Her wet red lips, as they wrapped around the cigarette the punk kid by the fountain lit for her, spoke untold volumes of carnality.

Her ass-pussy tingled and her big clitty, still bearing Liz's lipstick, dribbled at the thought of what the night would bring. She licked her lips, tasting the boss's nectar, nearly inspiring a mini- orgasm as she headed for her car. The cigarette soothed her as she sped off into the night, into the dream.