Paul could see what she was doing to herself, how she was teasing herself. Every time she pinched her taut buds, she would let out a low, animalish moan and shudder violently. Her excitement was contagious. Paul got so turned on watching her, sucking her that his cock started oozing pre-cum. It trickled in a solid line down the inside of his leg. He left off sucking her toes and started kissing and licking her ankles, slowly working his way up her long, smooth legs.

When he reached her calves, he swore she had an orgasm. She let out a piercing shriek, threw her head back, thrust her pubis forward, her knees spread as far apart as they'd go. And when he glanced up at the snug-fitting crotch-band of her panties, he grunted as if he'd been booted in the stomach. The flimsy strip of material was sopping wet! The heavy moisture had turned the fabric translucent and through it, he could see the ragged red petals of her pussy, the dense curls of coal black pubic hair that fringed their outer edges like lewd sideburns. Then the smell of her arousal hit him like a ten-pound sledge.

"Oooooof!" he groaned, shutting his eyes tight as his nostrils flared.

Of all the women he'd made love to, of all the sexual perfume he'd sampled, hers was the most astounding. It was dank, musky, and above all, moving. It was so strong that it made his mouth fill up with fresh slobber, so strong that it made his head reel and his blood pressure go right through the roof. It had exactly the right chemistry to make even the most hopelessly impotent man come up stiff as a stick. It was an olfactory call-to-fuck that simply could not be ignored.