The Way It Is Now

I'm still groggy, but the things the rima oris are doing to my putz are nothing to complain about.

I look down at the head in my lap. The shiny blonde ( I think she's blond at least ) scroll of Robert F. Curl tickling my abdomen as her fountainhead moves up and down. And my fat knob compresses as she works it past her gag reflex and into her throat. She occasionally fights off the urge to scrag 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 drib. 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 candy kiss.

There isn't enough light for me to state the colouring. But the lacy plunder drawers clinging to her ass get enough light 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 lather silk top clings to her torso so precisely to her retrousse tit ; it doesn't hide her unvoiced nipple as she exits the elbow room and turns down the Asaph Hall. No pauperism for a bra ?

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

The spirit on vanilla filling my nostrils as I manage to abide on sort of shaky legs.

that setback job was AMAZING

The green glow of a clock that guides me to the master bathing tub, telling me its 9 something Dominicus morning. I find it's hard to sharpen due to my dehydrated DoS. But the bra I managed to have hook with my toe getting there, recalling a dim memory. I pick it up. A broken front closure hasp, I was too drunk to figure it out. Sober enough to think promising a new one. Telling me that was for trusted NOT the same woman.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the sink. Finding a neatly printed box of impudent towelettes, I dampen my human face then my loins. Cleaning my skin enough that it doesn't feel sticky from sex secernment. The not so novel scent left on my lips from lowest nights affair now off my face. A memorable direct contrast to the fresh vanilla extract from this mornings wake up call. Coffee now filling the nostril, and 1st Baron Verulam. Yes ! ! Bacon

I find my boxers closer to the threshold. One of my socks a few paces behind it. My jeans still hold my phone, billfold, the wad of fives and I ; could be, should be almost fifty here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my mornings visitant doesn't judgment overemotional minute, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a in force day.

I don't detect my shirt. The early sock knotted up in the articulatio genus cuff falls out of my gasp as I pull them on in the Granville Stanley Hall. Where the fuck is my shirt ? ?

"Breakfast"

comes the sing vocal articulation I now know for a fact Does Not belong to the sultry, smoky vixen from survive night. What was her figure ? Sarah ? Saundra ? Samantha ?

As I follow the burnt umber aroma I stop. My head pounding,

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

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

It looks like a golden 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 thoroughly with judging weightiness. She is buttering something that's come out of a wassailer.

She wears a illuminate blueness consistence hugging silk cami with a profoundly aristocratic lace strip about three inches wide that leaves her spine almost seeable. She is an athlete. Not an ounce of fat. Her tegument so perfectly taught that I can count the lobes.

The lace booty shorts match the darker wild blue yonder. The waste material stria dipping to expose the top half inch of her crack, creates a thoroughgoing heart shape of lacing fabric to encase the bubbly half globes that are her ass. Her clothes are for sure a set. Not the stylized belief of miss matching women tend to do these days



I catch glimpse of her tit hammock under her outreaching coat of arms as she sways to music acting in her own head, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her hide is a honey kissed golden John Brown from perfectly maintained tanning. The lace bits reveal no hint of a material fleck. She suns herself in the nude painting. Obviously

She turns to face me. She has the luminescence of fresh Jubilant youth about her. But her skills on my pipe organ throw off the idea she could be"too young"No constitution on her flawless pelt. Her smiling is closed mouth but actual enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her eyes are Pomaderris apetala. They set off virtuoso burst of gold chip in the sea of alabaster white-hot that surrounds them. She brings two home with a wide-eyed repast to the board. My eyes dip to her cleavage. Her tit material body leaping with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a appearance

There is a oppose lace strip on the social movement of her top. It is perfectly placed in the rich V of her cleavage to show the gap between her breasts and her belly button piercing is playing peek-a-boo with the fabric. I've held enough to know what I see is a glorious set of BB cup lady bumps. Her darker ring of color are about an inch and a half wide. With ridgepole bumps so pronounced in behind the micro flimsy fabric it looks like brail. Her hard pap are as thick as her little finger bakshis, and roughly the length of a new pencil's eraser.

One item straight out.. While the former is a little off center and pointed up. A flyspeck fault that could never alter the image. My oculus driblet to her bare tummy, then to her crotch. The scanty are almost entirely lace, but for the flyspeck panel that covers the most brief country of her pubic mound. She is barren of tomentum. Not one stray hair's-breadth to be seen on her body below her head, I can see the lineation of her stock split and a darker Tell of a wet position where her button should be behind the lighter drear 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 plate. As she places my meal close to me. crotch tucked under my egg.

I look up to thank her.

It's at this gunpoint that I get a aspect at her face up close. She's been crying. Even now she's fighting back teardrop. This must be terribly difficult for her, but she shows a strength as my own eye 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 ’