Pink, with a subtle tint of olive; fingernails painted blue.A blond wig lies next to them on the floor: shoulder length, with a bounce that stops short of a curl. High-heeled shoes. Blouse. Skirt. Tights. Bra. Cotton panties. More pseudoskin: a one-piece mold that mimics her features, and then spreads to the neck, the chest, the shoulders, below the nape.She’s in a playful mood.I pick up the panties and slip on the blindfold that I keep in my pocket for games like these.I bury my nose in her panties. Cotton is so much better at absorbing her odour than silk or lace. Her smell is heady, powerful: she’s at most a day or two from her period.I drop the panties and start my search. Step by step I cover the entire house. I open every closet. I palpate every nook and cranny. The whole time I’m sniffing. Sniffing her pussy. That smell! It’s everywhere I go. My balls tingle with anticipation.Is she even here? Maybe I shouldn’t have rubbed my face in her panties. Maybe that’s all I’m smelling.“Babe...?”Someone rams into me and knocks me down.“Silly!
What do You think about Nocturnes And Other Nocturnes?
