The Way It Is Now

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

I look down at the drumhead in my lap. The shiny blonde ( I think she's blond at to the lowest degree ) gyre of ringlet tickling my abdomen as her principal moves up and down. And my fat thickening compresses as she works it past her gag physiological reaction and into her throat. She occasionally fights off the urge to decease as she lets out noises that are almost obscene, but positively aphrodisiacal when she does.

Blasting deep into her oral cavity, I even surprise myself at the loudness 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 buss.

There isn't sufficiency light for me to separate the colors. But the lacy prize shorts clinging to her ass get enough light to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. thigh and calves toned to a gymnasts perfection. Still ineffective to process color in the dim lighter. The thinly trounce silk top cling to her torso so precisely to her upturned bosom ; it doesn't blot out her grueling tit as she exits the room and turns down the manse. No indigence 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 case.

The smell on vanilla filling my anterior naris as I manage to stand on sort of shaky legs.

that blast job was AMAZING

The park glow of a clock that guides me to the captain bath, telling me its 9 something Sunday morning. I find it's hard to focus due to my dehydrated state. But the bra I managed to have sweetener with my toe getting there, recalling a vague memory. I pick it up. A erupt front closure hasp, I was too inebriate to figure it out. Sober enough to remember promising a new one. Telling me that was for sure NOT the same woman.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the cesspit. Finding a neatly printed box of newly towelettes, I dampen my face then my loin. Cleaning my skin enough that it doesn't finger unenviable from sex secretions. The not so unused scent left on my lip from survive nights affair now off my grimace. A memorable contrast to the fresh vanilla extract from this mornings wake up call. java now filling the nostrils, and bacon. Yes ! ! Bacon

I find my boxers closer to the door. One of my wind sleeve a few step behind it. My dungaree still hold my phone, wallet, the wad of fives and single ; could be, should be almost L here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my mornings visitor doesn't mind slipshod seconds, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a expert day.

I don't rule my shirt. The other sock knotted up in the knee cuff falls out of my pants as I pull them on in the hall. Where the shtup is my shirt ? ?

"Breakfast"

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

As I follow the coffee scent I stop. My brain pounding,

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

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

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

She wears a Light blue body hugging silk cami with a deeper blue lace comic strip about three column inch wide that leaves her acantha almost visible. She is an athlete. Not an ounce of fat. Her pelt so perfectly taught that I can bet the lobes.

The lace booty shorts match the darker blue. The waste set dipping to uncover the top one-half inch of her crack, creates a perfect substance bod of lace fabric to encase the bubbly half globe that are her ass. Her dress are for sure a set. Not the conventionalized notion of Miss matching women tend to do these days



I catch glimpse of her tit pitcher's mound under her outreaching arms as she sways to music acting in her own promontory, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her pelt is a dearest kissed favorable brown from perfectly maintained tanning. The lace bits reveal no soupcon of a fabric patch. She suns herself in the nude. Obviously

She turns to face me. She has the glowing of novel Jubilant youth about her. But her attainment on my organ hold off the idea she could be"too youthful"No makeup on her flawless cutis. Her smile is closed mouth but genuine enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her oculus are Hazel. They set off star burst of gold fleck in the sea of alabastrine egg white that surrounds them. She brings two dental plate with a simple meal to the table. My eyes dip to her segmentation. Her tit flesh bounce 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 segmentation to demo the gap between her breasts and her belly push button piercing is playing peek-a-boo with the framework. I've held enough to do it what I see is a magnificent set of BB cup lady swelling. Her darker areola are about an column inch and a one-half widely. With ridgeline bulge so pronounced in behind the micro lean textile it looks like brail. Her hard nipples are as thick as her pinky peak, and roughly the length of a new pencil's eraser.

One stage straight out.. While the other is a little off center and pointed up. A petite flaw that could never alter the ikon. My eyes drop to her bare tummy, then to her genitalia. The scanty are almost entirely lace, but for the flyspeck board that covers the most legal brief area of her pubic mound. She is barren of hair. Not one stray hair to be seen on her consistence below her headway, I can see the outline of her split and a darker William Tell of a wet spot where her clit should be behind the barge racy opaque triangle

I am looking at the humanly manifest Goddess Athena

She sits, those long tanned marble sculpted legs hybridisation near dame like as she swings them under her plate. As she places my meal close to me. ramification tucked under my egg.

I look up to thank her.

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

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

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