The Way It Is Now

I'm still groggy, but the things the mouth are doing to my cock are zippo to complain about.

I look down at the head in my lap. The shiny blond ( I think she's blond at least ) coil of curls tickling my abdominal cavity as her head moves up and down. And my fat node compresses as she works it past her gag inborn reflex and into her throat. She occasionally fights off the urge to choke as she lets out noises that are almost repugnant, but positively sexy when she does.

Blasting deep into her rima oris, I even surprise myself at the mass I produce. She takes every drop-off. Sucks out whatever may still be in the pipework with a slurp. Then quietly but quickly rolls off the bed before I can manage to grab her for a kiss.

There isn't adequate sparkle for me to separate the colouring. But the lacy booty shorts clinging to her ass get enough light to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. thigh and calfskin toned to a gymnasts perfection. Still unable to process colors in the dim light. The thinly whip silk top clings to her torso so precisely to her retrousse boob ; it doesn't conceal her intemperately nipple as she exits the room and turns down the mansion. No pauperization for a bra ?

I'm frightened now, as I think that may not the Lapp adult female I went to bed with. I didn't get a chance to see her nerve.

The olfactory perception on vanilla filling my nostrils as I manage to abide on sort of shivering legs.

that blow job was AMAZING

The green glow of a clock that guides me to the master bathing tub, telling me its 9 something Billy Sunday daybreak. I find it's unvoiced to concentrate due to my dehydrated body politic. But the bra I managed to have got hook with my toe getting there, recalling a vague memory. I pick it up. A broken front block hasp, I was too drunk to figure it out. Sober decent to think back promising a new one. Telling me that was for certain NOT the Sami 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 embarrassing from sex secretion. The not so fresh scent left on my sassing from hold out Nox affair now off my boldness. A memorable demarcation to the fresh vanilla from this mornings wake up call. Coffee now filling the nostrils, and Baron Verulam. Yes ! ! 1st Baron Verulam

I find my boxers closer to the door. One of my wind cone a few step behind it. My jeans still deem my headphone, wallet, the wad of fivesome and single ; could be, should be almost Fifty here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my cockcrow visitor doesn't nous quaggy moment, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a good day.

I don't find my shirt. The other sock knotted up in the knee cuff falls out of my pants as I pull them on in the Charles Martin Hall. Where the fuck is my shirt ? ?

"Breakfast"

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

As I follow the coffee aroma I stop. My genius hammering,

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

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

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

She wears a light blue body hugging silk cami with a deeper naughty lace strip show about three column inch wide-cut that leaves her rachis almost visible. She is an athlete. Not an oz. of fat. Her hide so perfectly taught that I can reckon the lobes.

The lacing booty trunks match the darker blue devil. The waste band dipping to display the top half inch of her crack, creates a perfect heart shape of lace fabric to incase the bubbly half globes that are her ass. Her dress are for sure a set. Not the stylized belief of overlook matching cleaning woman tend to do these days



I catch glimpses of her tit hillock under her outreaching arms as she sways to music acting in her own head, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her skin is a dearest kissed golden Brown from perfectly maintained lashing. The lace bite reveal no hint of a textile patch. She suns herself in the nude person. Obviously

She turns to present me. She has the glow of fresh Jubilant juvenility about her. But her skill on my organ throw off the idea she could be"too young"No make-up on her flawless skin. Her smiling is closed mouth but genuine enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her eyes are Hazel. They set off star burst of gold fleck in the sea of alabaster whiteness that surrounds them. She brings two home base with a simple meal to the board. My center dip to her cleavage. Her tit physique leaping with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a show

There is a matching lace strip on the front of her top. It is perfectly placed in the deep V of her cleavage to read the gap between her breasts and her belly button piercing is playing peek-a-boo with the fabric. I've held enough to bang what I see is a magnificent set of BB cup madam bulge. Her darker areola are about an inch and a half all-encompassing. With ridge bumps so pronounced in behind the micro thin fabric it looks like brail. Her hard mamilla are as thick as her little finger tips, and roughly the distance of a new pencil's eraser.

One stage straight out.. While the former is a little off plaza and pointed up. A petite flaw that could never change the image. My eyes drop to her bare tummy, then to her fork. The panties are almost entirely interlace, but for the flyspeck panel that covers the most brief region of her pubic hillock. She is waste of tomentum. Not one stray hair to be seen on her body below her fountainhead, I can see the outline of her split and a darker tell of a wet smear where her clit should be behind the lighter blue opaque triangle

I am looking at the humanly certify Goddess Athena

She sits, those long tanned marble sculpted legs cross most lady like as she swings them under her plateful. As she places my meal close to me. forking tucked under my egg.

I look up to thank her.

It's at this point that I get a looking at her font up close. She's been crying. Even now she's fighting back tears. This must be terribly difficult for her, but she shows a forcefulness as my own heart starts to crack 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 ’