Smoko

Short and sweet (I hope), with love, as always, for Raconteuse.

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"You people just can't let the language be, can you? If it's not 'mozzies', 'rellies' and 'prezzies', then it's 'arvo', 'nasho' 'ambo' and 'journo'. Have you left anything of the mother tongue uncorrupted?"

"Holy dooley. Did a bloody Yank just presume to lecture me on the subject of English? Surely not." She grinned as she spoke. His inability to resist that grin was why he was moving to Oz within the fortnight. It was also the reason they were at that moment having their conversation amid a sea of shipping boxes, the lion's share of his possessions packed therein.

The hour was late and they were both giddy with sleepiness.

She sprawled on his loveseat, her head resting on the cushioned arm at one end and her feet in his lap at the other. Using one of her big toes to poke him in the ribs, she watched with idle satisfaction as he flinched. "No fears, sweetness. After a month, you'll be slingin' the lingo like a native."

"Maybe, but I draw the line at 'smoko'."

Her grin widened and her foot jabbed again. "Do kaçak iddaa you, now?"

"I most certainly do." He pushed her marauding extremity away and folded his arms over his torso. "In fact, if you ever hear me utter the words, 'How about a smoko?', you have my permission to tickle me until the cows come home." He realised as soon as he spoke that it was a mistake.

She was up on her elbows immediately, fatigue vanished from her eyes. Somewhere in the Australian bush, he thought, there is a predator with a visage very like hers at this moment. "You really didn't think that through, did you, beautiful?"

No shit. He couldn't think of any graceful way to backpedal though. Huh. From the expression she was wearing, maybe he should concern himself less with grace and worry about survival.

When she silently beckoned to him, he moved her feet gently aside, rose from the sofa, replaced her feet and stood beside her like the proverbial lamb. "Be a dear, won't you? Kneel down and unbutton my jeans for me."

What was she up to? He couldn't read the answer in her laughing eyes, so he simply did as he was asked. When her pants kaçak bahis were unfastened, she brought her palm to the back of his head and eased his face down towards her crotch. He was met with an unmistakable and irresistible scent.

In contrast with that pungent aroma, her voice was only a whisper now. "Do you smell how wet I am?" All he could do was nod his reply.

She stretched her limbs flamboyantly, putting her whole body into the effort. He was mesmerised by the rippling of her muscles beneath the close-fitting t-shirt she wore. Not coincidentally, he wondered if there were any big cats in Oz.

"The next time you want to eat this pussy, you're gonna have to say the words you just swore you'd never say."

"Seriously? You wouldn't..." His voice died away. She said nothing, but her smirk implied volumes.

Not so very long after that, when she had him in restraints, her raking, prodding fingers saw to it that he twisted and convulsed in a most satisfactory fashion. Whenever he was able to catch his breath, he'd wailed and whined "smoko" repeatedly until she finally leaned over him and stuffed her sodden panties into illegal bahis his mouth. "I was only joking, sweet; there is no safeword."

She had a vibrator in one hand as she tormented him with the other. Each time she brought him to the brink of orgasm, she abruptly halted her attentions so she could press the pulsing toy against her clit until she detonated. As his entire body quivered with unrequited lust, she forced him to watch her sate herself over and over until her thighs were awash in fluid excitement.

Later still, when her hips were driving a strap-on between his cheeks and her fingers were flying on his length, she saw that he was approaching something momentous. By that point, he was begging her to let him come with a voice made raspy from extreme use. When she finally relented, her fingers sped over his shaft and glans, her cock ravaged his bowels and she growled, "Smoko!" The incoherent babble of sound he made as he spunked was sweeter than song to her ears. The hot, viscous jets that covered her fingers and spattered onto her breasts and belly were the ambrosia she'd been craving. What she savoured most though, was his abject surrender.

As she surveyed the havoc she'd wreaked, she noted the exhaustion and wonder in his gaze. The room was still but for their laboured breathing, though the word was still ringing in her ears.