Scented Pearl

As he boarded, it was the scent that assailed him, not the bright interior lights of the last tram from Flinders Street, not the ugly detritus of a night of travelling revellers, not the advertisements screaming garishly from every available free space, but that scent. His head spun!

Unusual, the tram was almost empty but for tendrils of soft perfume, violets after rain, heady and beguiling. He followed as the scent demanded.

He could not see her face, long, straight, brown hair, simple and unadorned rivers over her shoulders and down her back, head gently resting on the wall, inclined for a view out the window.

The scent was even stronger here, closer, and a hint of another, subtle, tantalising, teasing, a promise of something more real, more human. His nostrils flared as he tried to drink it all in, to taste that scent on the tip of his tongue.

She seemed oblivious to his presence standing now as he was parallel to her. He hesitated, tempting himself to sit opposite but took the next seat down and opened his eyes to her, and only her.

Her eyes were not closed, but obviously are not focussed on the blur of passing car lights, or shop fronts. A languid unconscious smile animated her face and she arched her neck slightly. She ran the tip of her tongue across her teeth then underneath her top lip.

He wanted to see her hands, a vision obscured by the seat between them, but was reluctant to move lest the spell of this moment, this woman, and this wonderful scent be broken. Around her throat, two long strands of pearls...

Her eyes rise slowly and she met his gaze, blue, blue eyes, not the innocent blue of a child, more feline, more hungry. His groin aches, and unbelievably she slowly smiles him welcome....

Moving deftly he took the seat directly opposite, so close now, her scent, the pattern of her sheer lace dress, the tiny white buttons, a song line to her belly, the strands of pearls, one white, one pink, entwined in her delicate manicured right hand, moving almost imperceptibly slowly back and forth. He lifted his gaze to follow their lead back up her body, to her pert breasts, where her pearls rolled gently back and forth, across her nipples, taught, elongated and dark under the white lace, hypnotic.

He felt the cool heat of her piercing eyes drinking in every flicker of emotion that crossed his entranced face, unable to hide his wonder and arousal. Gently paying homage to each tiny pink pearl between forefingers and thumbs, her hands slid up the length to her throat, framing for a moment the tiny freckle at its base, and bringing them over her head. He had watched women strip for him before but it compared nought to the eroticism of this woman divesting herself of her pearls before him.

For what seemed an eternity she simply ran them through her left hand, and he felt every pink nub as if it lay between his own fingers until she stopped and brought them to her generous, soft lips, wet from her tongue tip, and with one pearl traced a slow line first across her top lip then her lower. She kissed that one pearl then held it to him, beguiling him to do the same. With trembling lips he met it, wet from her and kissed it as he imagined kissing her true pearl, allowed his tongue to touch.

Too soon she lifted it away but then dropped her pearl-encrusted hand to her lap. Parting her thighs, she slid her hand between her tanned knees, up under her white lace dress and with the slightest of perceptible movements began to rub wet pink pearl to wet pink pearl, the circular movements visible under the lace sheath.

Her steely gaze softened and took on a dreamy glazed quality, her eyes flickering as she increased the pressure and speed of her own pleasuring, her breasts rising and falling fast and deep with each intake of breath. She began to tremble. She bit her bottom lip. And still, beneath that pretty dress, each visible rotation of her wrist, a dark rhythm of ever increasing pleasure.

He needed to see. Dare he? Lightly he placed his hands upon her knees lest he disturb her in her pleasure. A sharp intake of breath, a subtle moan... tacit approval?

Slowly his burning palms pushed up along the length of her silken thighs, inching the folds of lace higher, revealing inch by inch her trembling golden velvet flesh. Under his burning palm, each quiver like an electric current hotwired to his throbbing erection.

Higher still, he gently pushed the lace of her dress, until before him, the exquisite folds of her glorious cunt; her thumb, rubbing pearl against "pearl", as her small deft fingers pushed the remainder of the strand inside herself.

Her eyes flashed, there was an audible gasp and her face was suspended in reverie for a moment, for an eternity. And then she finally relaxed and smiled the most beatific smile, so sublime.

She pulled the strand free from her darkest place, each pearl freed, another tiny aftershock, another perceptible tremor. Slowly, she extricated her hand, and held out to him the now glistening pearls.

Taking them he allowed his hand to graze hers for a moment then raised the pearls to his face, fragrant with her, wet from her. He closed his eyes to breathe them in, and brought them once again to his lips. The taste, the flavour of her essence, the honeyed tip of his tongue rolled around his mouth, wanting to savour her. Entranced, he did not notice the tram come to a lurching stop.

He opened his eyes wanting to reach out now and truly take her, but he saw only the bright interior lights, the ugly detritus of a night of travelling revellers, the advertisements screaming garishly from every available free space...all that remained, a tendril of perfume, violets after rain, and in his hand, a fragrant glistening strand of pink pearls.