Sunday morning–woke up early.

The soft sun slipping through the slat blinds, illuminating a haze of dust above the curve of your spine. The rounded hump of your ass barely peeking out from beneath the olive linen sheet. You picked those out, but couldn’t have anticipated how perfect they’d look against your sun-kissed skin.

Hand moving up your thigh, wrapping around and gripping it tight. The low thrum of your pulse against my thumb. There’s a chirping blackbird outside and its lilting morning tune matches my pace as I slowly move between the cushion of your thighs.

There it is. That tight entrance. Just a brief tease with my middle finger. You’re still sleeping, but stir slightly, an airy moan escaping your lips. I push a little deeper and you wiggle your hips, your lips tight and shy but slowly warming to my request. And there it is, just a knuckle inside, tickling against the textured ridges of your inner space.

Growing wetter. Clenching against my second knuckle. My fingers are long for a reason, y’know? Or, at least, it’s a helpful feature. Push it further. Warm, warm, warm. Still half-asleep, but you know the moves, you push against me, your small hands digging into the sheets as I add a second finger. My unburied hand grasps your ass, kneading the bare skin gently, watching it spring back to its perfect fucking shape. If there’s any proof that God exists–or, perhaps, that the Devil is alive and well–it’s that goddamn ass. A perfect peach in anything–from loose grey sweats to tight black dresses.

You squirm a bit when I press along the edge of your ass. There they are: the marks from last night. Fully bloomed in the early morning light. The red imprint of my palm blossomed into a scattered purple. You always love a good smack when you take it from behind and I love seeing the evidence the next day. My thumb pushes against the welt, eliciting a little whimper.

Now the noises start. The slick sliding and gushing as you open up for me. In and out. In and out. God, do I love fingering you. I pull out, dragging that dripping honey along your inner thighs. Both hands grip your hips and twist, tossing you onto your back. Are you really still sleeping? Or just pretending? Think you’re having a wet dream? I mean, you are soaked.

I’ll taste it for myself soon enough. Sweet and salty and dappled with need. Lean low, let my teeth run along the soft flesh of your thigh. A small peck before I tease to the left and right of your labia. Up and down and then flicking near your hood. I’ll hold my tongue like a dagger and make you beg for it even while you dream.

There it is, my beard scratching gently against your legs while I place my lips softly around your pussy. I start with my tongue flat, pushing as many of my taste buds as I can manage against your tiny bundle of nerves.

You inhale sharply. Waking up now?

Flicking upwards, a trail of saliva connecting the tip of that muscle to your swollen pearl. Then back down, swirling around it gently until I lean in to suck. There it is–your hands through my hair, gripping and pulling and moaning as you grind against my chin. You’re either awake or having the best fucking dream of your life.

I’m insatiable. Always in pursuit of your pleasure. As your breathing grows more hurried–and your hands more busy–I grow more forceful. My hands get busy too. They’ve gotta go somewhere, y’know? So why not under that perfect fucking peach of an ass? Two palms full of firm cheeks, squeezing as my tongue flicks from the bottom of your vulva to the top. Then I slip one hand down so I can push two fingers back inside you, pushing down to make you feel full, and suck, suck, suck. It’s like balancing a jelly bean on the tip of my tongue, making it wiggle and dance, rolling it over and over.

And you’re getting close. I can tell. I can always feel the slight changes in the way that you breathe. The way that your body moves in a different rhythm as you try to lead me where you need me. Don’t worry babe, I’ll get you there. Take all the time you need.

A bell tolls in the distance and I grin as I briefly consider the Lord’s Prayer:

Hallowed be thy name…

You’ll utter mine quietly beneath your breath.

...forgive us our trespasses…

Let me just…push until I’m up to my palm in your slit.

...lead us not into temptation…

Far too fucking late.

...deliver us from evil…

I’ll deliver you to bliss.

That’s it–arch your back, push against me, feel my fingers dig deep into your flesh.

For thine is the kingdom…

Your *pussy is my fucking kingdom. Gilded and slick and way too fucking tight. Fingers out. Both hands gripping your ass again, holding you up, as if your clit could press any harder against my tongue.

The power and the glory…

Here it comes. I can tell you’re biting your lip.

For ever and ever…

AH.

Men.

There it is. Full body shivers. Collapsing into the mess of linen. Heavy breathing. You pushing me away as I keep teasing your clit. Too sensitive, too sensitive. The smell of coffee. Auto-brew. A kiss on each cheek. Another for your lips. Let you taste yourself on me. That unyielding wetness–made a mess of me and a mess of the sheets. As it should be.

Anyway.

Good morning.