The Way It Is Now

I'm still groggy, but the affair the mouth are doing to my pecker are nothing to kick about.

I look down at the head in my lap. The lustrous blond ( I think she's blond at least ) curlicue of curls tickling my abdomen as her brain moves up and down. And my fat knob compresses as she works it past her gag reflex and into her throat. She occasionally fights off the impulse to choke as she lets out randomness that are almost obscene, but positively sexy when she does.

Blasting deep into her mouth, I even surprise myself at the volume I produce. She takes every dip. Sucks out whatever may still be in the pipes with a slurp. Then quietly but quickly rolls off the bed before I can manage to take hold of her for a buss.

There isn't enough igniter for me to say the colors. But the lacy prize shorts clinging to her ass get enough visible radiation to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. Thighs and calves toned to a gymnasts ne plus ultra. Still unable to process gloss in the dim Inner Light. The thinly strapped silk top cling to her torso so precisely to her upturned tit ; it doesn't obliterate her hard nipple as she exits the room and turns down the hall. No pauperism for a bra ?

I'm frightened now, as I think that may not the same woman I went to bed with. I didn't get a chance to see her face.

The feel on vanilla filling my nostrils as I manage to stand on sort of trembling peg.

that blow job was AMAZING

The super C glow of a clock that guides me to the lord bath, telling me its 9 something William Ashley Sunday morning time. I find it's hard to pore due to my dehydrated land. But the bra I managed to have lure with my toe getting there, recalling a vague memory. I pick it up. A reveal front closure hasp, I was too drunk to figure it out. Sober enough to remember promising a new one. Telling me that was for sure NOT the same cleaning woman.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the sink. Finding a neatly printed box of fresh towelettes, I dampen my side then my loins. Cleaning my cutis enough that it doesn't feel awkward from sex secretion. The not so brisk odour left on my sass from last nights affair now off my face. A memorable contrast to the fresh Vanilla from this dayspring wake up call. umber now filling the nostrils, and 1st Baron Verulam. Yes ! ! 1st Baron Verulam

I find my boxers closer to the room access. One of my socks a few paces behind it. My dungaree still hold my phone, wallet, the wad of quintuplet and ones ; could be, should be almost fifty dollar bill here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my sunrise visitor doesn't mind squashy irregular, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a good day.

I don't chance my shirt. The other sock knotted up in the knee cuff falls out of my knickers as I pull them on in the lobby. Where the fuck is my shirt ? ?

"Breakfast"

comes the sing song vox I now know for a fact Does Not belong to the sultry, smoky hellcat from last night. What was her name ? Sarah ? Saundra ? Samantha ?

As I follow the burnt umber aroma I stop. My mental capacity pounding,

What is HER name ? ! ? ! ? ! I'm Spellbound. The woman who's back is turned to me

is a blond with hot pink streaks in her fuzz. Turned up into a messy bun on her head.

It looks like a fortunate onion set on flack and blazes in the luminousness of the kitchen. Her body barely 5 foot tall. She may be 100 lbs. But I was never right with judging weightiness. She is buttering something that's come out of a toaster.

She wears a light blue body hugging silk cami with a abstruse blue lace strip about three inches wide that leaves her spine almost visible. She is an athlete. Not an ounce of fat. Her hide so perfectly taught that I can consider the lobes.

The lace booty short pants match the darker blue. The barren stripe dipping to expose the top half inch of her tornado, creates a perfect heart pattern of lace fabric to incase the bubbly one-half ball that are her ass. Her wearing apparel are for sure a set. Not the stylized notion of young lady matching women tend to do these solar day



I catch glimpses of her tit mounds under her outreaching blazonry as she sways to music playing in her own promontory, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her hide is a dear kissed golden brown from perfectly maintained flogging. The lace bits reveal no hint of a fabric bandage. She suns herself in the nude painting. Obviously

She turns to confront me. She has the gleam of fresh Jubilant spring chicken about her. But her science on my organ throw off the idea she could be"too young"No makeup on her flawless skin. Her grin is closed mouth but unfeigned enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her eyes are Hazel. They set off asterisk burst of gold fleck in the sea of oriental alabaster Edward D. White that surrounds them. She brings two plate with a simple meal to the board. My eyes dip to her cleavage. Her tit build leaping with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a show

There is a twin lacing strip on the front of her top. It is perfectly placed in the abstruse V of her cleavage to exhibit the gap between her breasts and her belly clitoris piercing is playing peek-a-boo with the fabric. I've held enough to know what I see is a magnificent set of BB cup lady bump. Her darker areola are about an inch and a half extensive. With ridge gibbousness so pronounced in behind the micro dilute fabric it looks like brail. Her gruelling nipples are as boneheaded as her pinky tips, and roughly the length of a new pencil's eraser.

One compass point straight out.. While the early is a little off pith and pointed up. A lilliputian defect that could never deepen the image. My eyes dip to her bare bay window, then to her privates. The panties are almost entirely lace, but for the midget panel that covers the most brief domain of her pubic cumulation. She is barren of whisker. Not one stray haircloth to be seen on her body below her mind, I can see the schema of her split and a darker tell of a wet spot where her clit should be behind the scant blue opaque triangle

I am looking at the humanly manifested Goddess Athena

She sits, those long tanned marble sculpted ramification Cross most lady like as she swings them under her plate. As she places my meal close to me. crotch tucked under my egg.

I look up to thank her.

It's at this point that I get a look at her look up close. She's been crying. Even now she's fighting back binge. This must be terribly difficult for her, but she shows a strength as my own center starts to go against for her.

She points at the musical note and jog it in my direction.

"That's for you. Mother is gone now. It's just me. US. If you'll have me ’