his saturday morning juice

she was standing in the kitchen by the sink, looking out the window. he was watching the way her breast jiggled, and how nice her legs looked in her shorts.

he walked up behind her and pressed his hips into her behind. she arched her back, ummmmm that's nice. he rubbed her abdomen and starting easing her pants down, he smiled when he noticed that she was not wearing any panties.

as he slid her pants down he kissed her sweet round cheeks, the back of her legs down to her shapely calfs. she stepped out of her pants, and started to turn around. he grabbed her cheeks to stay her, as he slightly raised himself up, he bent her over the sink, tasting her  juices.

he pulled her skin back with his fingers, to see her large blossoming flower waiting for his mouth. he wrapped his tongue around it like he was licking an ice cream, then he sucked it into his mouth. ohhhhhh, she said loudly, as her knees started to buckle, he held her up, but continued sucking, he liked the way she came apart when he pleasured her this way. she was moaning and saying his name. he wanted to plunge his manhood into her now, but he wanted to see her fall apart more than he wanted his release. he contented himself by sliding a few fingers inside of her.

her walls were already vibrating. she was begging him not to stop. "ohhhh, ohh, ohh, yesssss," she said " please don't stop!"

she started gyrating her hips in a rhythm all her own, he sucked a littler harder and grabbed both cheeks to steady her, she yelled his name and exploded in his face, juices flowing freely from her. damn, she tasted sooo good. she was crying, he immediately stood up to take her in his arms. "its ok baby" he said as he wiped away her tears.

she looked into his eyes shaking her head yes. burying her face in his chest. he thought

"whew! what a great way to start the day"

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Michelle Howard's picture

words can not describe how i am feeling this one negrita. anythng i say here would be on the wrong side of acceptability. i will say i am dying of thirst, tu sabor que?
an admirer of your work

Nathaniel Booker's picture

Zane has absolutely nothing on you, Dear.

Beautifully written.

Nate