Delta40
10-15-2010, 09:48 AM
Irena walked into the dingy cafe off Holmes Avenue and shook her heavy hair. She zeroed in on her one admirer. The counterhand. Irena smiled coyly. 'What do you look at boy?' Drooping like a lanky stalk, the rather spotty boy kept stock still. At first glance, he looked like a snapshot except for the fact that his adams apple bobbed up and down as he tried to swallow the oversize lump in his throat. Irena removed her jacket. Her penetrating gaze temporarily hypnotised him. From the kitchen, Gino the cook shouted, 'Am n chez tostie for tayble too.' The plate slid along the counter from the kitchen. The counterhand didn't stop it and the toastie for a sorry looking old man fell to a greasy demise on the faded ceramics. The customer yelled his disgust. 'Don't bother!' and stumbled out leaving the counterhand at the mercy of Irena. Gino spat onto the floor and wiped his nose with a soiled teacloth. He grinned through his limp moustache at the counterhands gaping mouth. He swore in Iti Oz. 'Bastardo! You gunna clean dat or what?'
The spell was broken briefly but Irena pushed her shoulders back and whispered, 'Say, boy. You see something you like?' The counterhand coughed awkwardly. Irena purred like a well fed cat who enjoys the sun before tearing its prey to shreds. She had some time to kill.
He was skinny. The cardboard hat with 'Gino's' printed in fat flowing red letters made him look smaller than he was. He also looked ridiculous. An open book, thought Irena. He kept his head down as he scurried past her, dustpan and brush in hand. Perhaps he would mumble something. Irena figured even if he spoke, his thoughts would still be unintelligible. The boy was a definite walkover and she basked in her own sensual power. She hoped he would at least have some cash that she could make use of if she was to go the distance with this one. Irena smiled cruelly. Her thick, painted lashes were poised to blink at the right moment. Then, Irena reasoned, she could have some fun at the dumb suckers expense.
While he swept up the remnants of a toasted ham and cheese sandwich from the floor, Irena willed herself to feel some attraction to the bony arse, waving not more than two feet away. It was Friday. Nine o'clock. Irena glanced round at the empty tables and consciously adjusted her breasts before the counterhand turned to face her. The days greasy fried foods had permeated every surface. Even the light bulbs were coated in a brown layer of fat.
From the kitchen, Gino smiled when he thought about the little witch Irena. He checked the camera charger. Nearly full. The camera was a good idea. Irena once told Gino if he didn't have so many health problems due to his gross fatness, too much rich food and habitual shots of vodka, he might feel a stirring in his loins that would please his hungry wife. Gino derived a great deal of enjoyment out of filming though. Over the last year, he had amassed an impressive collection.
With her usual expert timing, Irena slid off the stool and curled up to the sweaty stick figure, causing the dustpan and brush to clatter to the floor. He lost his grip. Her exotic scent washed over him as his bulging eyes tried desperately to take in the bountiful scape of her cleavage which jiggled invitingly under his nose. For a brief second, he thought he might lose bladder control.
Irena parted bee stung lips and quivered inwardly as she felt the tremble of her prey. 'Tell me boy,' she breathed. 'You want to touch me? Feel me? Taste me? Gino snorted at the kitchen entrance as he adjusted the camera lens zoom so he could capture the eyebrow raising expression of the counterhand as he was devoured by the temptress. Irena gave a thumbs up to Gino as she bled every drop of a young boys' adolescent fantasies. She hoped the night would turn out better than last time. Like Pavorotti in ballet shoes, Gino danced to the door. He flipped the 'Open' sign to 'Closed' and continued to film.
The spell was broken briefly but Irena pushed her shoulders back and whispered, 'Say, boy. You see something you like?' The counterhand coughed awkwardly. Irena purred like a well fed cat who enjoys the sun before tearing its prey to shreds. She had some time to kill.
He was skinny. The cardboard hat with 'Gino's' printed in fat flowing red letters made him look smaller than he was. He also looked ridiculous. An open book, thought Irena. He kept his head down as he scurried past her, dustpan and brush in hand. Perhaps he would mumble something. Irena figured even if he spoke, his thoughts would still be unintelligible. The boy was a definite walkover and she basked in her own sensual power. She hoped he would at least have some cash that she could make use of if she was to go the distance with this one. Irena smiled cruelly. Her thick, painted lashes were poised to blink at the right moment. Then, Irena reasoned, she could have some fun at the dumb suckers expense.
While he swept up the remnants of a toasted ham and cheese sandwich from the floor, Irena willed herself to feel some attraction to the bony arse, waving not more than two feet away. It was Friday. Nine o'clock. Irena glanced round at the empty tables and consciously adjusted her breasts before the counterhand turned to face her. The days greasy fried foods had permeated every surface. Even the light bulbs were coated in a brown layer of fat.
From the kitchen, Gino smiled when he thought about the little witch Irena. He checked the camera charger. Nearly full. The camera was a good idea. Irena once told Gino if he didn't have so many health problems due to his gross fatness, too much rich food and habitual shots of vodka, he might feel a stirring in his loins that would please his hungry wife. Gino derived a great deal of enjoyment out of filming though. Over the last year, he had amassed an impressive collection.
With her usual expert timing, Irena slid off the stool and curled up to the sweaty stick figure, causing the dustpan and brush to clatter to the floor. He lost his grip. Her exotic scent washed over him as his bulging eyes tried desperately to take in the bountiful scape of her cleavage which jiggled invitingly under his nose. For a brief second, he thought he might lose bladder control.
Irena parted bee stung lips and quivered inwardly as she felt the tremble of her prey. 'Tell me boy,' she breathed. 'You want to touch me? Feel me? Taste me? Gino snorted at the kitchen entrance as he adjusted the camera lens zoom so he could capture the eyebrow raising expression of the counterhand as he was devoured by the temptress. Irena gave a thumbs up to Gino as she bled every drop of a young boys' adolescent fantasies. She hoped the night would turn out better than last time. Like Pavorotti in ballet shoes, Gino danced to the door. He flipped the 'Open' sign to 'Closed' and continued to film.