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She was sitting in one of the two deep, mahogany coloured leather chairs positioned by the fire in the Hunt Club, a long white cigarette dangling carelessly from her slim, manicured fingers, when I first saw her. When I first fell in lust with her, rather. Her red slingback stiletto heels dangled from her stockinged feet, and her red silk sheath dress had slipped up just enough to reveal a hint of the lace tops of those stockings.

She appeared to be waiting on someone, but had the look of someone who had been waiting just a little too long for that someone to arrive–her startlingly dark brown hair, pinned up in a French twist, was slightly disheveled, as if she’d been running those beautiful fingers through it whilst waiting, and two empty rocks glasses on the small oak table chairside indicated that either she was a fast drinker or that she had had more than adequate time to sip down the Islay that had once filled them.

I preferred to believe the latter. I watched her take a long drag on the cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly through her glossed red lips, tapping the ashes off into a cut crystal ashtray that had been set beside the rocks glasses. My heart seemed to stop for a moment, watching her lips close around that cigarette, and my mind instantly leapt to visions of those lips closing around my rapidly hardening cock.

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