I gripped her hair, sucked her tongue, and palmed her breast as I jerked in and out, enjoying the feel so much that I held off on coming for as long as I could stand.
It wasn’t that long, but she didn’t complain.
“God, I can’t believe I’m bare inside of you,” I gasped out, still twitching deep in her. “Feels so good, but I can’t believe I’m doing it.”
She clenched around me hard, and milked another jerk of come out of me. “Me either,” she gasped back.
The French toast was burnt. No surprise there. She made new.
I was famished, and I ate two full plates of it. I swore up and down and meant it when I said it was the best meal of my life.
“Who could have guessed what an innocent statement about butter would do?”
I’d apparently recovered enough to turn that into a challenge. I had her giggling and spread out on the table, molested dish of butter in tow, before I quite knew what I planned.
I climbed up and straddled her hips.
I spread a generous amount of the creamy butter between her tits, and started playing with them with both hands, handling them gently at first, and then rougher as her ni**les peaked into hard crests. I still couldn’t quite believe they were real, though they clearly were, but she was so tiny everywhere else, and her tits overflowed my big hands.
She started moaning and gasping out encouragement. She was, after all, the one that had given me the idea.
I pushed the two ripe globes together, testing them, kneading firmly to be sure they could handle what I was planning. She didn’t flinch, didn’t wince, no, she keened and panted out her pleasure, and I took that to mean I could do what I wanted to her glorious chest.
I swept a hand down, gathering extra moisture from her wet pu**y. The butter was oily and more than enough, but I craved her wet heat. I rubbed it onto my cock, pumping at it until a few beads of pre-come dribbled out. I moved up her body, grabbing handfuls of her ample br**sts and pushing them together so they hugged my cock.
Gripping hard, I started to thrust, and thrust, f**king between her fleshy br**sts in earnest, her delicate hands covering mine in encouragement.
I titty f**ked her.
This was something I’d only ever seen done in p**n . My ex-wife, even if she’d been willing, didn’t have enough going on up top to f**k like this.
Iris had plenty up top, more than enough, and it was so soft and warm it was like I was f**king a cloud in my own wet dream.
Her slender fingers cupped over my hands, one eventually slipping between us to cup at my scrotum, scratching lightly as I used her lush br**sts hard.
I lost my mind when I came, fisting my c**k and spurting se**n all over her chest, up onto her chin, crawling up until my c**k was jutting into her cheekbone, and I’d marked a good portion of her pretty face.
I apologized profusely for it, swore I had no idea why I’d done that, even while I moved back down her body and ground my still twitching c**k against her abused chest, and finished thoroughly against that soft flesh, but she laughed it off, even while she couldn’t open her eyes until I’d gotten her a clean wet dish towel.
It was one of those things I couldn’t believe I’d done after the fact, and the doing of it had felt like a blur of absolute, mindless pleasure.
I washed her in the shower, couldn’t stop stroking and kissing her, and telling her how sweet she was, and of course apologizing several more times for coming all over her face.
I’d never been like this before.
Insatiable, smitten, and even sated beyond belief I still found myself hardening enough to rub against her back.
It was all for show. I was spent, but I still enjoyed the feel of her, the novelty of touching another human just for the contact.
She moved against me, and it was like we were doing an obscene dance in the shower. I went with it, pushing her hands up on the tile. This lasted for a while before my perverted mind took it a step further.
I spread her cheeks and pushed my c**k into her ass, not with any real pressure. I was just feeling bold and wanted to gauge her reaction.
She arched her back and let me do it. My mind went fuzzy, because I could tell just from that brief contact that she was going to let me f**k her there. It wouldn’t happen today, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that this beautiful woman would let me take her every way I could think of, and I relished that.
Loved it. Needed it.
She made me feel so desirable, when I’d felt so unwanted for so long.
But back to my c**k in her ass. I rubbed it there, soaped it up and pushed it in while she braced herself, and spread her legs wide. I bit her shoulder and worked in just my tip with excruciating care.
Her entire body shuddered, and I bit harder, then pulled out and away.
I soaped my hand again, cleaning us both, stroking myself, curious if it was even possible for me to ejaculate again. But I stopped quickly.
I needed to have a little more faith that there was more to come tomorrow, and at this rate, I was going to work myself into a coma.
She turned her head and shot me a questioning look. “You don’t have to stop,” she said softly.
I bent and kissed her shoulder. “You are the sweetest girl, but I can’t possibly go another round today.”
She just nodded and turned back to the wall, letting her head fall forward as the water ran over her. I got her off with my fingers, smiling into her neck as she gasped and shook in my arms.
It was glorious. She was glorious.
We got into bed na**d and still slightly damp. I was wrapping myself around her when she said softly, “It’s time for me to go. I have to work a cigarette girl gig tonight.”
I squeezed her. “Don’t. Stay with me.”
She just shook her head. “I can’t. Not tonight. I can come back when I’m done, if you want me to, but it will be very late.”
“That’s fine. Come back whenever you can.”
She just nodded and went into my closet.
I followed, even so tired and spent that I felt weak, because I didn’t want her to slip away again while I was sleeping. That was a pattern I was very keen to break.
Her duffle bag was in there, and she began digging through it.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. While you were sleeping, the locksmith came by and changed your locks. He said you’d given him prior instruction, and that he could bill you later, so I didn’t bother to wake you up. He left your new keys on the butler’s pantry.”