🌹🖤It was Sunday...

🌹🖤It was Sunday, 

they had time.

In the middle of the morning, 

she wanted a coffee.

He prepared it, 

brought it, 

served it.

And then, 

with exquisite gentleness, 

he took her ankle and flew it to the table. 

Then he started again, 

with the other leg.

The simple dress, 

polka dots, 

she wore, 

opened, 

discovering the magnificent sight of her two bare legs, 

from the ankles to the top of the thighs.

As she sipped her still-steaming coffee, 

she smiled, 

watching him kneel on the floor, 

head up to his crotch.

"I love the landscape of your legs, 

and this long path that I will take from my mouth, 

to the sweet cavern that the cotton hides for a few more moments from my appetites. 

I know the sweetness of your intimate lips, 

sometimes smooth, 

sometimes adorned with adorable curls, 

and I like to affix my mouth to it, 

to smell its perfume and its moistness. 

I like when my tongue comes to caress this jewel of flesh, 

so delicate, 

which makes you lose your reason, 

which breaks your voice and makes you tremble to the core. 

I come, 

my dear, 

slowly to get my fill of you..."

Each word, 

precise, 

the tone of his male voice disturbed by his own desire for his feminine quintessence, 

the way he turned the sentences, 

and their almost hypnotic rhythm, 

had amplified his desire to let himself be devoured. 

She emptied the cup in one gulp, 

put it down as best she could, 

and closed her eyes, 

while the man she loved, 

the man who loved her, 

came to harvest on her long legs now a little more apart all the time. 

trouble he had sown there... 

(or when you take a random photo from your collection to write words on it with your pen... 

Have a nice Sunday, 

hoping for you, 

ladies, 

with your legs troubled up to the top of your thighs reading me... ) 

🖤💖💗💕💓💘💞💝