The Way It Is Now

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

I look down at the head in my lap. The shining blond ( I think she's blonde at least ) ringlet butterfly of curls tickling my venter as her head moves up and down. And my fat thickening compresses as she works it past her gag instinctive reflex and into her throat. She occasionally fights off the itch to choke as she lets out racket that are almost obscene, but positively aphrodisiac when she does.

Blasting deep into her lip, I even storm myself at the volume I produce. She takes every drib. Sucks out whatever may still be in the pipe with a slurp. Then quietly but quickly rolls off the bed before I can manage to grab her for a kiss.

There isn't enough light for me to state the colors. But the lacy prize short circuit clinging to her ass get enough visible radiation to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. thigh and calves toned to a gymnasts flawlessness. Still ineffective to litigate colors in the dim sparkle. The thinly strapped silk top clings to her torso so precisely to her upturned boob ; it doesn't hide her hard tit as she exits the way and turns down the hall. No need 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 smell on vanilla filling my anterior naris as I manage to stand on sort of shaky legs.

that black eye job was AMAZING

The green glow of a clock that guides me to the master bathtub, telling me its 9 something William Ashley Sunday sunup. I find it's concentrated to focus due to my dehydrated state. But the bra I managed to have hook with my toe getting there, recalling a obscure memory. I pick it up. A broken forepart closure hasp, I was too drunkard to estimate it out. Sober enough to remember promising a new one. Telling me that was for sure NOT the like woman.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the sinkhole. Finding a neatly printed box of fresh towelettes, I dampen my face then my loins. Cleaning my tegument enough that it doesn't feel sticky from sex secernment. The not so fresh smell left on my lips from lowest Nox affair now off my side. A memorable contrast to the fresh vanilla extract from this mornings wake up song. Coffee now filling the nostrils, and bacon. Yes ! ! Bacon

I find my boxershorts closer to the door. One of my air-sleeve a few tempo behind it. My jean still hold my headphone, wallet, the wad of basketball team and ones ; could be, should be almost fifty dollar bill here. I shrug and smile. I got laid hard, put away wet. Apparently my mornings visitor doesn't mind sloppy seconds, and I wasn't robbed. Today's gon na be a good day.

I don't incur my shirt. The early sock knotted up in the knee turnup falls out of my pants as I pull them on in the G. Stanley Hall. Where the roll in the hay is my shirt ? ?

"Breakfast"

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

As I follow the burnt umber odour I stop. My brain pounding,

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

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

It looks like a gilded Allium cepa set on fire and blazes in the spark of the kitchen. Her body barely 5 foundation tall. She may be 100 lbs. But I was never sound 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 blue lace strip about three in astray that leaves her spine almost seeable. She is an athlete. Not an ounce of fat. Her pelt so perfectly taught that I can weigh the lobes.

The lace swag drawers match the darker bluing. The permissive waste band dipping to discover the top half inch of her crack, creates a complete tenderness shape of lace fabric to encase the bubbly half globes that are her ass. Her clothes are for sure a set. Not the stylized notion of misfire matching women tend to do these days



I catch glimpses of her tit hammock 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 honey kissed fortunate brown from perfectly maintained tanning. The lace bits reveal no pinch of a cloth eyepatch. She suns herself in the nude. Obviously

She turns to face up me. She has the glow of sweet Jubilant youth about her. But her skills on my electric organ throw off the idea she could be"too untried"No makeup on her flawless skin. Her smile is closed mouth but genuine enough to divert a stamped of buffalo.

Her heart are Hazel. They set off sensation fusillade of amber spot in the sea of alabaster white that surrounds them. She brings two plates with a simple meal to the table. My middle dip to her segmentation. Her tit human body spring with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a display

There is a matching lace strip show on the front of her top. It is perfectly placed in the cryptical V of her segmentation to show the gap between her breasts and her belly push 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 Lady gibbosity. Her darker areola are about an inch and a half extensive. With ridge bumps so pronounced in behind the micro reduce fabric it looks like brail. Her hard tit are as thick as her pinky tips, and roughly the length of a new pencil's eraser.

One points straight out.. While the other is a little off center and pointed up. A tiny fault that could never change the image. My eye pearl to her bare corporation, then to her fork. The panty are almost entirely intertwine, but for the tiny venire that covers the most brief area of her pubic mound. She is barren of hairsbreadth. Not one stray hair to be seen on her soundbox below her head, I can see the abstract of her split up and a darker tell of a wet bit where her clit should be behind the lighter blue opaque triangle

I am looking at the humanly evidence Goddess Athena

She sits, those tenacious tanned marble sculpted legs hybrid most lady like as she vacillation 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 dot that I get a smell at her side up close. She's been crying. Even now she's fighting back tears. This must be terribly difficult for her, but she shows a strength as my own heart starts to pause for her.

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

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