“Breakfast is ready!” I called from my place in the kitchen. He told me he was famished this morning, would I please make him something to eat.
Oh, I’ve got something for him to eat, all right.
He stumbled down the hall, not fully awake, boxers hanging off his ass in that haphazard way of his. His gaze lifted and his step faltered as he saw the feast before him.
I’d set the table for him. There I was, sitting on the edge, not a stitch of clothing but my legs spread wide in all my feminine glory. I had them up on two chairs so as to maximize his viewing pleasure: a little ass and all of that juicy wet pussy. I leaned back on my hands, tits pushed out.
“Hungry?” I purred.
His eyes pulled away from my glistening pussy just long enough to make eye contact before being pulled back down again.
I sat up a little, picked up a small container of my favorite yogurt and a spoon. “Feed me?” I asked.
He nearly tripped in his haste to reach me. I handed him the container and he knew just what to do. First he fed me one bite, teasing my lips with the spoon before letting me have it. I moaned out. God I love that yogurt, you have no fucking idea. I licked my lips, wanting more. Instead, he drizzled some on my tits, smearing my hard nipples. He set the container down and tasted my flesh.
He sucked. He licked. He nibbled. I leaned back again. Closing my eyes. It was fire and ice on my hot skin. His tongue and the rapidly disappearing yogurt. Suddenly I felt his hand in my hair as he roughly pulled my face towards his. Our lips met. Crushed. Tongues reaching, licking, stroking. I could taste the yogurt. I could taste him. I moaned out again.
He dropped to his knees and ate what was prepared especially just for him. His tongue tasting, his lips sucking, his teeth nipping. My hands went to his hair and I held on as he continued his feast.
It was nothing for me to quiver and cry out. Muscles clenching. Body shaking. Higher than any high. He finished by licking me clean, swallowing every last drop I had to offer.
When he stood, he gently pushed me to my back and without any preamble thrust his hard cock into what was his. My body arched toward him. He pulled me so my ass was off the table. Then he fucked me. God he fucked me. It was glorious and wonderful, his hands holding my hips as he pumped himself into me.
Somehow, it was enough and I found myself screaming out his name, cumming harder the second time, clenching and drenching his cock. It seemed to last forever.
“Fuck! I love how wet your pussy gets for me!” He ground out between clenched teeth. And with that declaration, I felt him still then move once more. Twice. And then it was him howling out his own release. Gripping me so tight I knew I’d have bruises on my hips.
Panting still, I heard him quietly say in a hopeful voice, “so were you still making breakfast??”
tara caribou | ©️2017
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This was inspired by Lou Rasmus’ post by the same damn name: Breakfast.