Tantric Sitting Duck

Milo moved so fast up the track back to the laundry van he couldn't remember making the trip. He stumbled back into the clearing out of breath, sweating rancid stress and fear. Then stopped short, not quite believing as Lenore appeared at the driver's door with a finger to her lips.

She silently mouthed an exaggerated "Ar-mand is a-sleep", stepped down to the grass, and with her legs a little apart pressed herself against Milo's thigh, grinding steadily into him and gently licking the dusty, salty sweat from his neck and face.

Milo's pants suddenly stirred visibly, the front of his trousers stretching whalebone-taut. Lenore felt the pressure against her belly and looked down. The corners of her mouth quirked up subtly.

"Standing at attention for the queen, already?"

Milo suddenly forgot all about Furlonger, and focused on the throb of his horny heart. He stepped back to look at her again.

True to her word, Lenore had made herself even prettier than usual. From somewhere, she had rummaged a long white cotton dress, almost gauzy, with spaghetti straps and - obviously - no panties or bra. She'd washed her hair, and between its flaming highlights had twined in wildflowers she'd found by the stream a few dozen yards from the van. She smelled like roses and cinnamon.

Milo had seen her in makeup only once before, shortly after she had found Milo. Then, she'd worn it to distract the male vendors at a village market. Their wives had rolled their eyes at their husbands' painfully obvious drooling, and Armand had snaked a few mangoes.

She had looked quite beautiful then. Now, she radiated pulchritude and reeked of sex.

Her pheromones were knocking out butterflies miles away.

In the cantina Milo had so recently fled, the bartender suddenly, unaccountably, excused himself from hiding a comatose Furlonger in his secret back room, to tend to an inexplicable raging hardon in the john.

Milo realized peripherally that he was a Tantric Sitting Duck. And it didn't matter.

Remembering the giant fatty, he pulled it from his his shirt pocket, licked it and stuck it in his dry mouth. Lenore stared deeply into his eyes and sparked it with her Zippo. Milo took a blast and offered it back to her. Her darkened lashes dropped shyly, then as she raised the smoking cylinder to her cherry colored lips, her eyes lifted, recaught Milo's. She cradled the spliff between her flat fingertips and inhaled a prolonged erotic toke through the slightly wicked turn of her smile.

She passed the joint back to Milo. As he inhaled the magic smoke, she, in one fluid motion unbuckled his pants, dropped them to the grass, knelt, and wrapped her eager mouth around as much of Milo's cock as she could swallow. They moaned together.

Sliding back from Milo's member, she reached up to motion wordlessly for the joint, and took another endless toke as Milo's fingers exposed her perfect tits to the evening air. When he took the joint back, it was much shorter. Lenore's fingers danced teasingly on his buttons and slipped off his shirt. She slipped around the side of the van, and returned with a small jar, from which she removed a jiggling, brilliant emerald cube, and, motioning for Milo to open his mouth, she slid it onto his smoke-roughened tongue. She scooped up another for herself, licked it slowly, then slipped it into her mouth, and swallowed.

"Button, button... who's got the button?" she laughed, and pulled Milo down on top of her. She felt his hard ladder lean against the cliffs of her passion, and sighed gently in his ear.

"I'm going to fuck you to within an inch of your life tonight!" she cooed breathlessly, nibbling his earlobe as he groped toward her moistness. Then she rolled out from beneath him, grabbed the fruit jar up, and danced to the van door. She glanced laughingly back, once, like an alluring tropical wood nymph, tongued up another jello cube from her hand, and disappeared into the van.