She only has the one dress; he reflects on this while it comes off of her, short and drop-waisted and made in black, skimming over supple skin the color of coffee mixed with creamer. It's just the dress, she doesn't wear anything under it. This makes the show better. His cock strains the fly of his slacks when his eyes find her cunt, hairless and tight with her barcode tattooed off to the side, nestled at the crux of her hip. The dress is just brushing her navel when his hands palm her thighs, nose pressing against the bare mons above her smoky pink lips. The tip of his tongue parts them, but it's the flat surface of it that finds her clit and strokes a saliva-laden caress across the sensitive nub. She breathes out quickly. He can feel her thighs flex and begin to tremble, thick and lean under his calloused fingers.
Her breasts come next. He watches as his tongue circles, running down the length of the slit to taste her when her nipples appear, dark and dense and stiff in the cool air; she's small enough to cover one tit under each hand. He considers that as his tongue massages the inner lips of her pussy. She's soaked his tongue, almost sweet, enough to give his cock a pulse while it presses into his zipper.