Smeared.

Poetry destroyed.

Well, she'd make more.

"You want me to touch you more there?" Babette asked him in her mind.

"Yes. Naked."

Babette unsnapped his-what? She'd make it a swimsuit he was wearing.

So in that case, she would just have to untie the string, maybe.

Naw. Still too complicated.

He wore a-hell, he wore a fucking towel and they were in the sauna!

Didn't have to do anything.

His cock stood straight out in his crotch. The prick leapt at her first touch.

The towel slid down.

The cock popped up.

Babette dropped her palm. Wrapped it about the haft of Channing's honker.

Drifted her fingers up and down along the length of the erection.

Rubbed her fingers around the rim right behind the head. Twisted the cock.

Strangled its neck.

"Uh," he said.

"Good?"

"Unh huh."

"How about this?"

"Yes."

Babette ran her fingers up and down the curled up paper upon which Channing's poem had been written. Her eyes went blank.

She was smitten.

Could actually feel the cock.

As though it were there.

Caught in her hair.

As Babette craned her neck.

Brought her rubyfruit lips into contact with cock. Hard as a rock.

Slickered it first.

Ran her pointed tongue down the prick from the head to the root. Took the shoots of pudhair between her teeth.

Twirled them gently.

Yanked out.

"Oooooh."

She smelled the oil of his ballocks. Saw the nuts beef up in size.

She gave the nougats a squeeze.

Saw his belly stiffen. Muscles all around his haunch tightened as if in fright.

"Awk!"

"It didn't hurt, now. Did it, Channing? I didn't mean to, you know."

"It's okay."

Babette tightened her fingers about the twanger again. Shafted her fist up.

Stretched the prick out.