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Boots wasn't her real name (is it anybody's?). Edward named her that the first time he saw her, for fairly obvious reasons. Those reasons were made of black suede and fit snugly all the way up to her knees. An oversized black fur covered the rest of her, stopping at her throat but seeming to mingle with her mane of dark hair. Her face? Very pale, a white oval accented with a slash of red and two staring blue eyes. She seemed perpetually surprised; when the waitress brought the glass of white wine to her table, she stared up at her in something like shock. When she lifted the glass to her mouth, she looked vaguely confused. She didn't take her coat off, but sat with one hand wrapped around her middle while she sipped her wine. As though someone might steal it. Edward loved her. She was perfect. He took his time about approaching her. Normally he liked to wait at least a day before talking to a girl, even a week, but that was for the girls he knew were regulars. Waiting to approach new customers carried the risk that she might not return. So he finished his paper and paid for his martini and walked casually over to her, the paper bundled tightly under his arm. Conversation came easily; surprisingly so. Spacy as Boots looked, she was eager to talk to someone. He bought her another glass of wine. The talk went from events current in the city to those worldwide. >From there the conversation progressed to literature and from there it was an easy jump to Edward's special interests. Boots expressed great interest, even enthusiasm. She wanted to go back to his place right now. Edward was not inclined to argue. During the cab-ride, Boots sat staring out the windows, doodling pictures on the fogged glass with one finger. Edward watched her, trying not to gloat over his success. As they approached his building he pulled out his wallet, counting out the fare and a large tip for the silent driver. His apartment was large, but furnished so sparsely as to be almost empty. Boots began disrobing as soon as he closed the door, throwing her coat away, then pulling her blue dress over her head. The boots stayed on; that was never an issue. Edward took off his own clothes slowly and carefully, savoring it. When he was bare and faintly goosepimply in the drafty living-room, he laid down on the floor and stretched his arms over his head. In the bar, Boots had told him that she hadn't done this kind of thing before; Edward doubted that. She immediately pressed her heel against his groin, grinding down in a way he found very pleasurable. She moved up and rubbed her left boot against his chin. He'd known a girl once before who used to razor long slits into the sides of her oldest boots so he could smell the exquisite bouquet of leather and flesh when she trampled him. Boots' sueded insteps smelled only of rain and mud, but it was enough. He was monstrously erect, his cock a small steeple spiking up from his middle. She stepped up onto him, putting her weight on his chest and thigh. The pain blossomed in him for only a moment; then it was overwhelmed by pleasure. Looking up, he saw her strangely distorted; a white face peering over bulging breasts and hips huge, furred thickly with curly black hair. "Mmm," she murmured, plucking at her nipples. "Oh, he's going to get it now." "Walk," he whispered hoarsely. "Walk on me." She moved her feet unsteadily, the points of her heels punch-pressing over his chest and waist. There was the same blossoming of pain followed by pleasure; bliss. "Black and blue," she told him. "Going to be black and blue when I'm done." Boots knew when he was ready. She stepped off him and got on her knees, pushing his legs apart and going down on him with that hot red mouth. Very instinctive; he liked that. Her mouth was wide and wet; it locked onto his cock and sucked, lifted away for a breath, then went down again. Edward lifted his hands briefly and put them down, his fingers shaking. His balls spasmed and white erupted from between her lips. "Want it," she grunted, squeezing his cock rhythmically with one hand. "Want it all." Pain and pleasure again, one coming after the other so fast he thought he might faint. Whatever was left in him came trickling out between her fingers and she licked it away. He whimpered and she stretched one leg out to him so he could clasp her boot in his hands and kissed the suede. She kept licking his cockhead while he did her feet. Her tongue was dry and raspy, making him jump with each stroke. "I want to do this forever," she told him.
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