I’m still groggy, but the things the mouth are doing to my cock are nothing to complain about.

I look down at the head in my lap. The shiny blond (I think she’s blond at least) ringlets of curls tickling my abdomen as her head 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 choke as she lets out noises that are almost obscene, but positively sexy when she does.

Blasting deep into her mouth, I even surprise myself at the volume I produce. She takes every drop. 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 kiss.

There isn’t enough light for me to tell the colors. But the lacy booty shorts clinging to her ass get enough light to let me see how perfectly shaped it is. Thighs and calves toned to a gymnasts perfection. Still unable to process colors in the dim light. The thinly strapped silk top clings to her torso so precisely to her upturned breast; it doesn’t hide her hard nipple as she exits the room 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 nostrils as I manage to stand on sort of shaky legs.

that blow job was AMAZING

The green glow of a clock that guides me to the master bath, telling me its 9 something Sunday morning. I find it’s hard to focus due to my dehydrated state. But the bra I managed to have hook with my toe getting there, recalling a vague memory. I pick it up. A broken front closure hasp, I was too drunk to figure it out. Sober enough to remember promising a new one. Telling me that was for sure NOT the same woman.

Having relieved myself, I wash in the sink. Finding a neatly printed box of fresh towelettes, I dampen my face then my loins. Cleaning my skin enough that it doesn’t feel sticky from sex secretions. The not so fresh scent left on my lips from last nights affair now off my face. A memorable contrast to the fresh Vanilla from this mornings wake up call. Coffee now filling the nostrils, and bacon. Yes!! Bacon

I find my boxers closer to the door. One of my socks a few paces behind it. My jeans still hold my phone, wallet, the wad of fives and ones; could be, should be almost Fifty 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 gonna be a good day.

I don’t find my shirt. The other sock knotted up in the knee cuff falls out of my pants as I pull them on in the hall. Where the fuck is my shirt??

“Breakfast”

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

As I follow the coffee aroma 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 streaks in her hair. Turned up into a messy 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 good 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 inches wide that leaves her spine almost visible. She is an athlete. Not an ounce of fat. Her skin so perfectly taught that I can count the lobes.

The lace booty shorts match the darker blue. The waste band dipping to expose the top half inch of her crack, creates a perfect heart 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 miss matching women tend to do these days

I catch glimpses of her tit mounds under her outreaching arms as she sways to music playing in her own head, while she slathers on the land-o-lakes from a tub. Her skin is a honey kissed golden brown from perfectly maintained tanning. The lace bits reveal no hint of a fabric patch. She suns herself in the nude. Obviously

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

Her eyes are Hazel. They set off star burst of gold fleck in the sea of alabaster white that surrounds them. She brings two plates with a simple meal to the table. My eyes dip to her cleavage. Her tit flesh bounces with her heal-toe-bounce stride.

Shes putting on a show

There is a matching lace strip on the front of her top. It is perfectly placed in the deep 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 magnificent set of BB cup lady bumps. Her darker areola are about an inch and a half wide. With ridge bumps so pronounced in behind the micro thin fabric it looks like brail. Her hard nipples 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 flaw that could never change the image. My eyes drop to her bare tummy, then to her crotch. The panties are almost entirely lace, but for the tiny panel that covers the most brief area of her pubic mound. She is barren of hair. Not one stray hair to be seen on her body below her head, I can see the outline of her split and a darker tell of a wet spot where her clit should be behind the lighter blue opaque triangle

I am looking at the humanly manifested 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. Fork tucked under my egg.

I look up to thank her.

It’s at this point that I get a look at her face 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 break for her.

She points at the note and nudges it in my direction.

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