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Over on the counter he lit a red pillar candle and scattered incense over a hot coal sitting in an ornate silver chafing dish. Thick white smoke filled the room with the scent of exotic resins. He set a CD in the CD-player and hit 'repeat all' then 'scramble'. The entire shop vibrated with brooding instrumental music. He pulled the rolling table with his equipment over to where she lay across the bench. Carefully he pulled from his Magikal Artes bag several ornate glass bottles with the special inks from his personal collection. The recipes for his inks were hard won and the ingredients very difficult to come by. Some of the inks glowed through the smoked glass. With steady hands he set to filling his temporary wells with brilliants. He set everything in place on the table then raised his head, closed his eyes and cleared his thoughts. Latin words rolled from his lips in a guttural whisper. He opened his eyes and stepped directly behind her. She turned her head to look. She seemed to. I whimpered as your thumbs skated over the underside of my breasts, arching my back towards you, asking wordlessly for more as you pushed up the bra with your knuckles at the same moment as taking my nipples in your strong fingers, twisting enough to make me gasp. You abruptly stepped back, and pulled off your t-shirt, looking at me with hooded eyes. 'Strip,' you told me. My fingers found the hem of my top and I pulled it off in a fluid motion, your eyes still on my face as I fumbled for the clasp of my bra and let it drop to the floor. Out of breath, burning, I shimmied my panties and skirt down to my ankles, catching my torn tights with it and slipped them off my feet, my shoes having been discarded somewhere in the hallway. As I stood there, naked, your eyes moved from my face and slowly slipped down over my body, inch by inch, sinfully, temptingly, erotically. You took in every last centimeter of my body, your gaze resting on my tightened, pink nipples and sliding gradually over.
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