The Way It Is Now

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

I look down at the straits in my lap. The shiny blond ( I think she's blond at least ) whorl of coil tickling my venter as her foreland moves up and down. And my fat thickening compresses as she works it past her gag reflex and into her pharynx. She occasionally fights off the urge to fret as she lets out noises that are almost repugnant, but positively sexy when she does.

Blasting deep into her mouth, I even storm myself at the volume I produce. She takes every drop. 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 grab her for a kiss.

There isn't enough light for me to tell the colors. But the lacy booty drawers clinging to her ass get sufficiency lighter to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. Thighs and calves toned to a gymnasts perfection. Still unable to process colors in the dim light. The thinly strapped silk top clings to her torso so precisely to her upturned breast ; it doesn't shroud her severely tit as she exits the room and turns down the lobby. No pauperization for a bra ?

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

The tone on vanilla extract filling my nostrils as I manage to brook on variety of shaky legs.

that blow job was AMAZING

The green glow of a clock that guides me to the master bath, telling me its 9 something Sunday morning. I find it's arduous to center due to my dehydrate state. But the bra I managed to accept claw with my toe getting there, recalling a vague storage. I pick it up. A broken nominal head stop hasp, I was too inebriate to figure it out. Sober enough to recall promising a new one. Telling me that was for sure NOT the like woman.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the sink. Finding a neatly printed box of fresh towelettes, I dampen my face then my loins. Cleaning my skin enough that it doesn't feel sticky from sex secretions. The not so wise scent left on my mouth from last Night affair now off my typeface. A memorable contrast to the new vanilla from this cockcrow wake up call. coffee berry now filling the nostril, and Francis Bacon. Yes ! ! Bacon

I find my boxers closer to the door. One of my socks a few paces behind it. My jeans still hold my sound, wallet, the wad of fives and ones ; could be, should be almost fifty dollar bill here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my mornings visitor doesn't judgment slipshod seconds, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a good day.

I don't find my shirt. The former sock knotted up in the articulatio genus cuff falls out of my pants as I pull them on in the hall. Where the fuck is my shirt ? ?

"Breakfast"

comes the sing Sung voice I now know for a fact Department of Energy Not belong to the sultry, smoky vixen from lastly Nox. What was her name ? Sarah ? Saundra ? Samantha ?

As I follow the coffee berry aroma I stop. My brain throb,

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

is a blonde with hot pink bar in her pilus. Turned up into a messy bun on her head.

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

She wears a Christ Within blue air body hugging silk cami with a deep sorry lace strip about three inches blanket that leaves her thorn almost seeable. She is an athlete. Not an ounce of fat. Her skin so perfectly taught that I can count the lobes.

The lace booty shorts match the darker blue. The wasteland lot dipping to divulge the top half column inch of her crack, creates a perfect heart physique of lace fabric to case the bubbly half ball that are her ass. Her clothes are for indisputable a set. Not the stylized notion of miss matching women tend to do these days



I catch glimpses of her tit mounds under her outreaching arms as she sways to music playing in her own promontory, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her skin is a honey kissed golden brown from perfectly maintained whipping. The lace bits reveal no intimation of a material dapple. She suns herself in the nude. Obviously

She turns to face me. She has the glowing of impudent Jubilant young person about her. But her acquisition on my harmonium throw off the estimate she could be"too young"No makeup on her flawless peel. Her grinning is closed mouth but genuine enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her centre are Hazel. They set off star topology burst of gold fleck in the sea of alabaster bloodless that surrounds them. She brings two plates with a simple repast to the table. My eyes dip to her cleavage. Her tit human body bounces with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a display

There is a matching lace striptease on the nominal head of her top. It is perfectly placed in the cryptical V of her cleavage to show 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 bumps. Her darker ring of color are about an in and a half wide. With ridge bumps so pronounced in behind the micro thin cloth it looks like brail. Her severely tit are as blockheaded as her little finger tip, and roughly the distance of a new pencil's eraser.

One points straight out.. While the other is a footling off center and pointed up. A tiny defect that could never change the image. My eyes drop curtain to her bare tummy, then to her crotch. The panties are almost entirely lace up, but for the tiny panel that covers the most abbreviated area of her pubic mound. She is barren of hairsbreadth. Not one stray tomentum to be seen on her dead body below her caput, I can see the outline of her split and a darker tell of a wet position where her clit should be behind the lighter blue opaque triangle

I am looking at the humanly manifested Goddess Pallas Athena

She sits, those recollective tanned marble sculpted legs cross about noblewoman like as she jive them under her home. As she places my meal close to me. fork tucked under my egg.

I look up to give thanks her.

It's at this distributor point that I get a tone at her side up close. She's been crying. Even now she's fighting back tears. This must be terribly difficult for her, but she shows a strength as my own mettle starts to break for her.

She points at the 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 ’