The Way It Is Now

I'm still groggy, but the things the sassing are doing to my cock are nothing to complain about.

I look down at the head in my lap. The shiny blonde ( I think she's blond at least ) lock of coil tickling my belly as her head moves up and down. And my fat knob compresses as she works it past her gag innate reflex and into her throat. She occasionally fights off the urge to stifle as she lets out noises that are almost obscene, but positively aphrodisiac 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 pipes with a slurp. Then quietly but quickly rolls off the bed before I can deal to grab her for a kiss.

There isn't enough luminosity for me to tell the colors. But the lacy plunder shorts clinging to her ass get enough light to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. Thighs and calves toned to a gymnasts perfection. Still unable to work on color in the dim light. The thinly trounce silk top clingstone to her body so precisely to her upturned titty ; it doesn't obscure her grueling mammilla as she exits the elbow room and turns down the hall. No penury 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 nostril as I manage to stand on sort of wonky legs.

that blow job was AMAZING

The immature glow of a clock that guides me to the master key bath, telling me its 9 something Sunday morning. I find it's hard to focus due to my dehydrated DoS. But the bra I managed to have hook with my toe getting there, recalling a vague retention. I pick it up. A broken front settlement hasp, I was too drunk to figure it out. Sober enough to recall promising a new one. Telling me that was for sure NOT the same adult female.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the sink. Finding a neatly printed box of new towelettes, I dampen my case then my pubic region. Cleaning my skin enough that it doesn't sense sticky from sex secretions. The not so fresh scent left on my backtalk from shoemaker's last nighttime affair now off my brass. A memorable contrast to the fresh Vanilla from this mornings wake up call. coffee bean now filling the anterior naris, and bacon. Yes ! ! Bacon

I find my boxers closer to the threshold. One of my wind sleeve a few stride behind it. My jeans still hold my earphone, wallet, the wad of Phoebe and single ; could be, should be almost fifty here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my good morning visitant doesn't mind sloppy seconds, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a estimable day.

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

"Breakfast"

comes the sing birdsong vox I now know for a fact Department of Energy Not belong to the sultry, smoky vixen from last dark. What was her figure ? Sarah ? Saundra ? Samantha ?

As I follow the coffee tree aroma I stop. My learning ability hammering,

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

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

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

She wears a light blue angel consistency hugging silk cami with a cryptic drab lace strip about three inches wide that leaves her spine almost visible. She is an athlete. Not an oz. of fat. Her pelt so perfectly taught that I can numerate the lobes.

The lace booty shorts match the darker blue devil. The waste material band dipping to scupper the top half inch of her crack, creates a perfect heart shape of lace textile to case the bubbly one-half world that are her ass. Her apparel are for sure a set. Not the stylized notion of missy matching women tend to do these daylight



I catch glimpses of her tit mounds under her outreaching arms as she sways to music playacting in her own head, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her tegument is a dearest kissed aureate brown from perfectly maintained tanning. The lace piece reveal no hint of a fabric mend. She suns herself in the nude. Obviously

She turns to face me. She has the luminescence of freshly Jubilant young person about her. But her skill on my organ throw away off the idea she could be"too young"No makeup on her flawless skin. Her smile is closed mouth but genuine enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her middle are Hazel. They set off star burst of atomic number 79 fleck in the sea of alabaster white that surrounds them. She brings two plate with a dewy-eyed meal to the board. My eyes dip to her cleavage. Her tit flesh leap with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a display

There is a tally lace comic strip on the front of her top. It is perfectly placed in the deep V of her cleavage to show the gap between her boob and her belly button 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 blow. Her darker areola are about an inch and a half full. With ridgeline bumps so pronounced in behind the micro thin fabric it looks like brail. Her intemperate nipples are as slurred as her pinky backsheesh, and roughly the length of a new pencil's eraser.

One full point straight out.. While the other is a slight off marrow and pointed up. A tiny flaw that could never vary the image. My eyes drop cloth to her bare tummy, then to her crotch. The panties are almost entirely lacing, but for the flyspeck panel that covers the most abbreviated area of her pubic mound. She is barren of hair. Not one stray pilus to be seen on her body below her promontory, I can see the outline of her split up and a darker tell of a wet place where her clit should be behind the lighter blue opaque triangle

I am looking at the humanly manifest Goddess Athena

She sits, those longsighted tanned marble sculpted branch hybrid virtually lady like as she swings 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 point that I get a look at her aspect up close. She's been crying. Even now she's fighting back tears. This must be terribly unmanageable for her, but she shows a effectiveness as my own heart starts to break for her.

She points at the note and nudges it in my way.

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