The bell’s chime was still hanging in the air when Stephen opened the door. And there she was. Lucy. The name came to him unbidden, though she hadn’t spoken. She stood framed in the afternoon light, a vision in a skintight blouse that plunged just enough to hint at the soft, full curves beneath, the fabric straining with each breath. No bra. The knowledge was immediate, visceral. Her jeans were a second skin, and the high, black boots gave her a dangerous, elegant height. Dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, and her large, entrancing eyes held a playful, knowing glint.“Stephen Lorn?” Her voice was a smooth, warm alto. “I saw your advertisement. The bronzes.”“Come in,” he said, his own voice lower than he intended. He stepped back, his gaze tracing the lines of her as she moved past him, the scent of jasmine and something spicier trailing in her wake.His studio was a curated chaos of art—canvases, tools, and on a long, lit shelf, a collection of small bronze sculptures. Mostly female forms, captured in elegant, erotic abstraction.“For my boyfriend,” she said, her eyes already scanning the shelf. “He appreciates… form.” Her fingertip, tipped with a dark polish, hovered near a figurine of a woman arching her back in ecstasy. “This one is exquisite. The flow of the metal… it’s like frozen desire.”Stephen watched her. Not the art, but her. The way her body leaned, the subtle shift of weight from one booted foot to the other. “It’s about capturing energy,” he found himself saying, the therapist’s cadence slipping into his speech. “Orgone. The life force. The sculptor wasn’t just casting bronze; he was attempting to trap a moment of pure, sensual potential.”She turned, a slow, deliberate pivot. Her eyes met his, and a smile played on her lips. “Potential. I like that word. It’s so… full of possibility.” She took a step closer, her gaze dropping briefly, pointedly, to the front of his trousers, where the sight of her had already stirred an undeniable, hardening response. “You have a keen eye for form, Stephen. I can see that.”Heat flooded him. She noticed. Of course she did. This was no ingenue, despite the girlish charm. This was a woman who understood power, in boardrooms and bedrooms. Her confidence was a tangible force.“The most captivating form in this room,” he said, the hypnotic, circling pattern of his words coming naturally, “isn’t cast in metal. It’s breathing. It’s standing right before me, a symphony of lines and curves that no artist could ever truly capture. Only… appreciate.”A soft, throaty laugh escaped her. “A tantric guru and a flatterer.” She didn’t step back. Instead, she closed the distance until only a breath separated them. “Show me,” she whispered.“Show you?”“Your appreciation.” Her hand came up, not to touch his face, but to rest lightly on his chest. “You want to capture it, don’t you? This… potential you see in me. You want to study it. Photograph it.”The air left his lungs. The suggestion, spoken with such serene boldness, was both an offer and a command. “Nude,” he breathed, the word a statement, not a question.“Nude,” she confirmed, her eyes holding his. “For art. For the energy. For the potential.” Her hand slid down his chest, over the flat plane of his stomach, and came to rest, palm flat, against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his pants. The contact was electric. “But I think we’re past just looking, don’t you?”She applied the faintest pressure, a slow, rubbing motion that made his hips jerk forward involuntarily. A low groan tore from his throat.“I didn’t just come here for a sculpture,” Lucy murmured, her lips now inches from his. Her scent enveloped him. “I came to see what a man who collects such raw beauty is like. To feel the energy he talks about.” Her other hand joined the first, both now cupping him through the fabric, exploring his length and girth with an artist’s curiosity. “And right now, the piece of art I’m most interested in… is this.”Stephen’s hands found her hips, gripping the tight denim. “Lucy…”“Shhh,” she soothed, dropping to her knees in one fluid, graceful motion. The black boots creaked softly. Looking up at him from the floor, her expression was a mix of worship and wicked promise. “Let me appreciate it. Properly.”Her fingers made quick work of his belt buckle, the button, the zipper. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet studio. She tugged his pants and boxers down just enough to free him, and her breath hitched—a small, genuine sound of awe that went straight to his already-throbbing cock.“Beautiful,” she whispered, almost to herself. She didn’t grab him immediately. Instead, she leaned in, her face so close he could feel the heat of her skin. She nuzzled the base, inhaling deeply. Then her tongue darted out, a pink, wet point of sensation, and she licked a long, slow stripe from root to tip, swirling around the broad head.Stephen’s head fell back, a curse dissolving into a moan. God. Her tongue was velvet fire.She took him into her mouth then, not all at once, but with a devastating, controlled slowness that had him seeing stars. Her lips formed a perfect, tight seal around the crown, and she sucked, gently at first, then with increasing pressure. Her tongue worked underneath, massaging the sensitive frenulum in rhythmic, maddening circles.One of her hands wrapped around the base of his shaft, her thumb stroking the pulsing vein there. The other hand slid up his thigh, her nails scraping lightly through the fabric of his trousers. Her eyes remained open, locked on his face, watching every twitch, every gasp, drinking in his loss of control.She began to move, establishing a deep, languid rhythm. Down, until he felt the head of his cock brush the back of her throat, and she swallowed, the muscles constricting around him in a hot, wet squeeze that made his legs tremble. Then up, almost all the way out, her lips popping off with a soft, wet sound before she dove down again.Her free hand wandered, sliding around to grip his ass, pulling him deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. She was not passive; she was devouring him, an active, hungry participant. The sounds were filthy, lewd—the slick slide of her lips, her soft hums of pleasure, his own ragged breathing.He tangled a hand in her dark curls, not to guide her, but to feel the connection, to anchor himself as the pleasure built into a tight, coiling pressure in his gut. “Lucy… your mouth… it’s…”She pulled off with an audible gasp, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cock. “It’s what?” she breathed, her voice husky. She stroked him firmly, her thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum over the sensitive tip. “Tell me what it is. Use your pretty, hypnotic words.”“It’s a liberation,” he choked out, his therapist’s vocabulary fracturing under the sensation. “A… a direct channel. You’re not just sucking my cock. You’re drawing the energy out. You’re… consuming my tension.”A brilliant, impish smile lit her face. “Mmm. I’m a nymphomaniac for energy, then.” And she took him back in, deeper this time, her throat opening to accept him fully. She held him there, nose buried in the coarse hair at his base, her throat working around him, and he felt the world narrow to that single, incredible point of wet, tight, sucking heat.Her pace quickened, became more urgent. The hand on his shaft pumped in time with her bobbing head. The other hand left his ass and found his balls, cupping and rolling them gently, then applying a firmer, exquisite pressure. The dual sensations—the intense suction of her mouth, the knowing touch on his sac—drove him to the very edge.He was babbling, praises and curses falling from his lips. “Yes… just like that… don’t stop… I’m going to…”She redoubled her efforts, a woman possessed, a siren pulling him onto the rocks of his climax. The coil snapped. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, erupted from his core. With a raw shout, he came, pulsing into the welcoming, relentless heat of her mouth. She took every drop, swallowing rhythmically, her throat milking him until he was spent, shuddering, and utterly empty.Slowly, gently, she released him, licking him clean with tender, kittenish swipes of her tongue before sitting back on her heels. She looked up at him, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with satisfaction and something else—a challenge.“Well,” she said, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, a strangely elegant gesture. “That was a wonderful appetizer.” She rose to her feet in one smooth motion, her boots clicking on the hardwood. She stepped into him, her body aligning with his, her hardened nipples pressing against his chest through the thin blouse. “But Stephen… I’m afraid I’m still terribly interested in that photo session.”

The bell’s chime was still hanging in the air when Stephen opened the door. And there she was. _Lucy._ The name came to him unbidden, though she hadn’t spoken. She stood framed in the afternoon light, a vision in a skintight blouse that plunged just enough to hint at the soft, full curves beneath, the fabric straining with each breath. No bra. The knowledge was immediate, visceral. Her jeans were a second skin, and the high, black boots gave her a dangerous, elegant height. Dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, and her large, entrancing eyes held a playful, knowing glint.

“Stephen Lorn?” Her voice was a smooth, warm alto. “I saw your advertisement. The bronzes.”

“Come in,” he said, his own voice lower than he intended. He stepped back, his gaze tracing the lines of her as she moved past him, the scent of jasmine and something spicier trailing in her wake.

His studio was a curated chaos of art—canvases, tools, and on a long, lit shelf, a collection of small bronze sculptures. Mostly female forms, captured in elegant, erotic abstraction.

“For my boyfriend,” she said, her eyes already scanning the shelf. “He appreciates… form.” Her fingertip, tipped with a dark polish, hovered near a figurine of a woman arching her back in ecstasy. “This one is exquisite. The flow of the metal… it’s like frozen desire.”

Stephen watched her. Not the art, but _her_. The way her body leaned, the subtle shift of weight from one booted foot to the other. “It’s about capturing energy,” he found himself saying, the therapist’s cadence slipping into his speech. “Orgone. The life force. The sculptor wasn’t just casting bronze; he was attempting to trap a moment of pure, sensual potential.”

She turned, a slow, deliberate pivot. Her eyes met his, and a smile played on her lips. “Potential. I like that word. It’s so… _full_ of possibility.” She took a step closer, her gaze dropping briefly, pointedly, to the front of his trousers, where the sight of her had already stirred an undeniable, hardening response. “You have a keen eye for form, Stephen. I can see that.”

Heat flooded him. _She noticed._ Of course she did. This was no ingenue, despite the girlish charm. This was a woman who understood power, in boardrooms and bedrooms. Her confidence was a tangible force.

“The most captivating form in this room,” he said, the hypnotic, circling pattern of his words coming naturally, “isn’t cast in metal. It’s breathing. It’s standing right before me, a symphony of lines and curves that no artist could ever truly capture. Only… appreciate.”

A soft, throaty laugh escaped her. “A tantric guru _and_ a flatterer.” She didn’t step back. Instead, she closed the distance until only a breath separated them. “Show me,” she whispered.

“Show you?”

“Your appreciation.” Her hand came up, not to touch his face, but to rest lightly on his chest. “You want to capture it, don’t you? This… potential you see in me. You want to study it. _Photograph it._”

The air left his lungs. The suggestion, spoken with such serene boldness, was both an offer and a command. “Nude,” he breathed, the word a statement, not a question.

“Nude,” she confirmed, her eyes holding his. “For art. For the energy. For the _potential_.” Her hand slid down his chest, over the flat plane of his stomach, and came to rest, palm flat, against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his pants. The contact was electric. “But I think we’re past just looking, don’t you?”

She applied the faintest pressure, a slow, rubbing motion that made his hips jerk forward involuntarily. A low groan tore from his throat.

“I didn’t just come here for a sculpture,” Lucy murmured, her lips now inches from his. Her scent enveloped him. “I came to see what a man who collects such raw beauty is like. To feel the energy he talks about.” Her other hand joined the first, both now cupping him through the fabric, exploring his length and girth with an artist’s curiosity. “And right now, the piece of art I’m most interested in… is this.”

Stephen’s hands found her hips, gripping the tight denim. “Lucy…”

“Shhh,” she soothed, dropping to her knees in one fluid, graceful motion. The black boots creaked softly. Looking up at him from the floor, her expression was a mix of worship and wicked promise. “Let me appreciate it. Properly.”

Her fingers made quick work of his belt buckle, the button, the zipper. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet studio. She tugged his pants and boxers down just enough to free him, and her breath hitched—a small, genuine sound of awe that went straight to his already-throbbing cock.

“_Beautiful_,” she whispered, almost to herself. She didn’t grab him immediately. Instead, she leaned in, her face so close he could feel the heat of her skin. She nuzzled the base, inhaling deeply. Then her tongue darted out, a pink, wet point of sensation, and she licked a long, slow stripe from root to tip, swirling around the broad head.

Stephen’s head fell back, a curse dissolving into a moan. _God._ Her tongue was velvet fire.

She took him into her mouth then, not all at once, but with a devastating, controlled slowness that had him seeing stars. Her lips formed a perfect, tight seal around the crown, and she sucked, gently at first, then with increasing pressure. Her tongue worked underneath, massaging the sensitive frenulum in rhythmic, maddening circles.

One of her hands wrapped around the base of his shaft, her thumb stroking the pulsing vein there. The other hand slid up his thigh, her nails scraping lightly through the fabric of his trousers. Her eyes remained open, locked on his face, watching every twitch, every gasp, drinking in his loss of control.

She began to move, establishing a deep, languid rhythm. Down, until he felt the head of his cock brush the back of her throat, and she swallowed, the muscles constricting around him in a hot, wet squeeze that made his legs tremble. Then up, almost all the way out, her lips popping off with a soft, wet sound before she dove down again.

Her free hand wandered, sliding around to grip his ass, pulling him deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. She was not passive; she was devouring him, an active, hungry participant. The sounds were filthy, lewd—the slick slide of her lips, her soft hums of pleasure, his own ragged breathing.

He tangled a hand in her dark curls, not to guide her, but to feel the connection, to anchor himself as the pleasure built into a tight, coiling pressure in his gut. “Lucy… your mouth… it’s…”

She pulled off with an audible gasp, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cock. “It’s what?” she breathed, her voice husky. She stroked him firmly, her thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum over the sensitive tip. “Tell me what it is. Use your pretty, hypnotic words.”

“It’s a liberation,” he choked out, his therapist’s vocabulary fracturing under the sensation. “A… a direct channel. You’re not just sucking my cock. You’re drawing the energy out. You’re… _consuming_ my tension.”

A brilliant, impish smile lit her face. “Mmm. I’m a _nymphomaniac_ for energy, then.” And she took him back in, deeper this time, her throat opening to accept him fully. She held him there, nose buried in the coarse hair at his base, her throat working around him, and he felt the world narrow to that single, incredible point of wet, tight, sucking heat.

Her pace quickened, became more urgent. The hand on his shaft pumped in time with her bobbing head. The other hand left his ass and found his balls, cupping and rolling them gently, then applying a firmer, exquisite pressure. The dual sensations—the intense suction of her mouth, the knowing touch on his sac—drove him to the very edge.

He was babbling, praises and curses falling from his lips. “Yes… just like that… don’t stop… I’m going to…”

She redoubled her efforts, a woman possessed, a siren pulling him onto the rocks of his climax. The coil snapped. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, erupted from his core. With a raw shout, he came, pulsing into the welcoming, relentless heat of her mouth. She took every drop, swallowing rhythmically, her throat milking him until he was spent, shuddering, and utterly empty.

Slowly, gently, she released him, licking him clean with tender, kittenish swipes of her tongue before sitting back on her heels. She looked up at him, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with satisfaction and something else—a challenge.

“Well,” she said, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, a strangely elegant gesture. “That was a _wonderful_ appetizer.” She rose to her feet in one smooth motion, her boots clicking on the hardwood. She stepped into him, her body aligning with his, her hardened nipples pressing against his chest through the thin blouse. “But Stephen… I’m afraid I’m still _terribly_ interested in that photo session.”

Pussy in Boots, Lucy

Stephen Lorn

A man who sells sculptures is visited by a woman who is looking for a sculpture of a naked woman for her boyfriend.  The man is an artist and asks the woman to pose for him for some nude photos.  The woman is so beautiful that the man is aroused and the woman notices his arousal.  The woman then offers to give the man a blowjob and blow his mind.  The woman gives the man a blowjob and then asks for a photo session.

When Lucy visits for a seductive sculpture, her bold allure awakens the artist's hunger—explore the intense temptation.

Lucy Ignites Passionate Sculptor's Desire

The bel rings.  When Stephen opens the door, he finds a stunningly beautiful woman at his doorstap who has read his advertisement and is coming to but one of the bronze sculptures he has collected and is now selling ….   She is in search of a sculpture of a naked woman as a present for her boyfriend …

 shows her a few naked figurines.  The conversation soon moves to the splendid form

Of his visitor.  Stephen asks her to pose for him for some nude photos.  She is so gorgeous that posing alone soon is no tenable option …. Especially not when she notices his arousal, touches it and days she wants to blow his Dick and blow his mind …

Pussy in boots : Boots, Bronzes, and Burning Desires

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Pussy in boots : Boots, Bronzes, and Burning Desires

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