The Way It Is Now

I'm still groggy, but the things the mouthpiece are doing to my cock are null to kick about.

I look down at the oral sex in my lap. The sheeny blond ( I think she's blond at least ) ringlets of curls tickling my venter as her head moves up and down. And my fat pommel compresses as she works it past her gag physiological reaction and into her pharynx. She occasionally fights off the urge to strangle as she lets out noises that are almost lewd, but positively sexy when she does.

Blasting deep into her mouth, I even surprise myself at the volume I produce. She takes every drop. Sucks out whatever may still be in the organ pipe with a slurp. Then quietly but quickly rolls off the bed before I can cope to snaffle her for a kiss.

There isn't decent light for me to tell the colors. But the lacy booty boxershorts clinging to her ass get enough lighter to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. second joint and calves toned to a gymnasts perfection. Still unable to process colors in the dim light. The thinly strapped silk top clingstone to her torso so precisely to her tip-tilted breast ; it doesn't hide out her operose nipple as she exits the room and turns down the hall. No penury for a bra ?

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

The flavor on vanilla filling my nostrils as I manage to endure on sorting of wobbly branch.

that blow job was AMAZING

The green glow of a clock that guides me to the master bath, telling me its 9 something Sun morning. I find it's hard to focus due to my dehydrate state. But the bra I managed to have hook with my toe getting there, recalling a faint memory. I pick it up. A broken front closure hasp, I was too drunkard to figure it out. Sober enough to commemorate promising a new one. Telling me that was for sure NOT the same charwoman.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the swallow hole. Finding a neatly printed box of bracing towelettes, I dampen my face then my loin. Cleaning my skin enough that it doesn't experience sticky from sex secretions. The not so fresh aroma left on my sass from hold out nights affair now off my nerve. A memorable line to the saucy vanilla extract from this mornings wake up call. burnt umber now filling the nostril, and Viscount St. Albans. Yes ! ! Viscount St. Albans

I find my boxers closer to the door. One of my socks a few paces behind it. My blue jean still hold my sound, wallet, the wad of Phoebe and one ; could be, should be almost L here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my good morning visitant doesn't brain sloppy seconds, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a estimable day.

I don't find my shirt. The other air sock knotted up in the knee cuff falls out of my trouser as I pull them on in the dormitory. Where the fucking is my shirt ? ?

"Breakfast"

comes the sing song voice I now know for a fact Does Not belong to the sultry, smoky vixen from last Night. What was her figure ? Sarah ? Saundra ? Samantha ?

As I follow the coffee odour I stop. My wit pounding,

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

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

It looks like a halcyon onion set on fire and blazes in the Inner Light of the kitchen. Her trunk barely 5 substructure tall. She may be 100 lbs. But I was never soundly 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 disconsolate lace funnies about three in wide-eyed that leaves her spine almost visible. She is an athlete. Not an apothecaries' ounce of fat. Her skin so perfectly taught that I can bet the lobes.

The lace booty shorts match the darker blue. The waste band dipping to expose the top half inch of her crack, creates a perfect heart shape of lace fabric to encase the bubbly half globes that are her ass. Her clothes are for sure enough a set. Not the conventionalize notion of pretermit matching cleaning lady tend to do these twenty-four hour period



I catch glimpses of her tit agglomerate under her outreaching arms as she sways to music playing in her own mind, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her cutis is a dearest kissed prosperous Brown from perfectly maintained tanning. The lace act reveal no hint of a framework patch. She suns herself in the nude sculpture. Obviously

She turns to face up me. She has the radiance of refreshful Jubilant younker about her. But her acquirement on my pipe organ confuse off the idea she could be"too vernal"No constitution on her flawless skin. Her grinning is closed mouth but genuine enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her eyes are Hazel. They set off star salvo of gold chip in the sea of alabastrine white that surrounds them. She brings two dental plate with a round-eyed meal to the mesa. My eyes dip to her cleavage. Her tit human body bounces with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a appearance

There is a matching lacing airstrip on the front of her top. It is perfectly placed in the bass V of her cleavage to bear witness the gap between her knocker and her belly release piercing is playing peek-a-boo with the fabric. I've held enough to have it away 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 ridgepole jut so pronounced in behind the micro slim down material it looks like brail. Her concentrated teat are as compact as her pinky tips, and roughly the distance of a new pencil's eraser.

One detail straight out.. While the early is a niggling off shopping mall and pointed up. A tiny defect that could never change the image. My middle drop cloth to her bare tummy, then to her genital organ. The panties are almost entirely lace, but for the flyspeck control board that covers the most brief domain of her pubic agglomerate. She is barren of hair. Not one stray hair to be seen on her body below her headland, I can see the synopsis of her split and a darker William Tell of a wet spot where her clitoris should be behind the lighter depressed opaque trilateral

I am looking at the humanly manifested Goddess Athene

She sits, those long tanned marble sculpted peg cross most madam like as she golf stroke them under her plate. As she places my meal close to me. Fork tucked under my egg.

I look up to thank her.

It's at this stage that I get a expression at her fount up close. She's been crying. Even now she's fighting back snag. This must be terribly difficult for her, but she shows a military strength as my own heart starts to break for her.

She points at the note and nudge it in my direction.

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