MilkFountain
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2005
- Posts
- 1,481
Breakfast of champions . . .
I once had a serious lady friend who had small, but full and round breasts. Her ass was her crowning glory. Blessed with dancer’s legs and a tight, slender waist, her butt drew more attention than a chain collision on the freeway.
I will never forget the spring morning she came barefoot to the breakfast table in one of my shirts and nothing else. I put two pillows either side of where my plate had been a moment before, and hoisted her there, settling her knees on the pillows, her face to the outside window, overlooking the valley. She flung her arms out and lay her face and breasts low to the cool wood surface. Her breasts flattened in half moons either side of her, hair spreading around her shoulders and across the table.
Bottom raised high, her young cheeks hid nothing. I dropped my eyes along the length of her back until they fell into the chicane where, had her spine been the course of a stream, the meandering flow would now be caught between narrowing walls and rushed below in a cataract. Here, the bud of her asshole, pink and tight in morning light, nestled deep in the valley of her rising flesh. Not drowning in the plunging foam of my imagined river, it gleamed under my gaze. My mere stare was warming my breakfast, it’s first aromas sharp in my nose.
I sat in my chair, curled my arms under her thighs to embrace her waist with both my hands, and drew her hips to me. The lips of her vertical mouth swelled. Between them, glinting in the early morning light, her dampness increased. In those brief seconds under my hot affectionate eyes my breakfast moistened and her honet began to drizzle into her fine curls, little drops quivering there.
I first made contact with my nose, bumping and sliding it here and there, up and down. Then I kissed—first, the inside of a thigh, then her asshole, the inside of one cheek, and finally dipped my face, bathing it long between the full lips. They were now dripping wet, their slick fullness arround me. I explored, sometimes nibbling, once suckling, like a baby eager for warm milk. Eventually I buried all my face. From between the twin, smooth curves of her cheeks rising either side of my nose, I watched the sun rise from the hills across the lake. When her climax came, it shook the table, rattling carelessly placed silver and toppling a glass to the floor. She collapsed, the taught muscles in her thighs relaxing, her panting loud in the sunstruck room, and I continued feasting.
I once had a serious lady friend who had small, but full and round breasts. Her ass was her crowning glory. Blessed with dancer’s legs and a tight, slender waist, her butt drew more attention than a chain collision on the freeway.
I will never forget the spring morning she came barefoot to the breakfast table in one of my shirts and nothing else. I put two pillows either side of where my plate had been a moment before, and hoisted her there, settling her knees on the pillows, her face to the outside window, overlooking the valley. She flung her arms out and lay her face and breasts low to the cool wood surface. Her breasts flattened in half moons either side of her, hair spreading around her shoulders and across the table.
Bottom raised high, her young cheeks hid nothing. I dropped my eyes along the length of her back until they fell into the chicane where, had her spine been the course of a stream, the meandering flow would now be caught between narrowing walls and rushed below in a cataract. Here, the bud of her asshole, pink and tight in morning light, nestled deep in the valley of her rising flesh. Not drowning in the plunging foam of my imagined river, it gleamed under my gaze. My mere stare was warming my breakfast, it’s first aromas sharp in my nose.
I sat in my chair, curled my arms under her thighs to embrace her waist with both my hands, and drew her hips to me. The lips of her vertical mouth swelled. Between them, glinting in the early morning light, her dampness increased. In those brief seconds under my hot affectionate eyes my breakfast moistened and her honet began to drizzle into her fine curls, little drops quivering there.
I first made contact with my nose, bumping and sliding it here and there, up and down. Then I kissed—first, the inside of a thigh, then her asshole, the inside of one cheek, and finally dipped my face, bathing it long between the full lips. They were now dripping wet, their slick fullness arround me. I explored, sometimes nibbling, once suckling, like a baby eager for warm milk. Eventually I buried all my face. From between the twin, smooth curves of her cheeks rising either side of my nose, I watched the sun rise from the hills across the lake. When her climax came, it shook the table, rattling carelessly placed silver and toppling a glass to the floor. She collapsed, the taught muscles in her thighs relaxing, her panting loud in the sunstruck room, and I continued feasting.
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