Champagne breakfast



It's Sunday morning.
I wake up slowly in a dimly lit bedroom. Daylight is very faintly filtering through the closed curtains.
I feel around for my phone and I see that it's been half past nine. I don't feel like getting up yet though.
Next to me the bed is empty; you're not there, but your scent and your warmth is.
I am thinking about last night: the theater, the drinks afterwards, the lovemaking upon returning home.
I am getting hot just thinking back to that moment.

On the other side of the house, I hear the sounds of dishes, the espresso machine. You're already up, maybe preparing breakfast.
I look around, see my red high heels close to the bed. It looks like they were hastily kicked off last night.
Our clothes spread across the floor. My Maison Close dress, your shirt. We were impatient…
I get out of bed and open the curtain a little. A beam of light falls inside the bedroom. Outside it looks gray and chilly.
Staying in bed all morning suddenly seems like such a good idea.

I pick up the red Tisja Damen bra I wore last night, put it on again, fasten the hooks on the back strap.
On top of your shirt is a thin nude stocking by Maison Close, with a sexy red back-seam; the other is at the foot of the bed.
Halfway under the bed, I find the red Tisja Damen suspenders. The stockings glide over my smooth legs with a lovely little crackle; I carefully attach them to the clasps.
I get into my high heels and lie down in bed again, half covered by the duvet, waiting for you to come up the stairs.
I pretend to be sleeping, but through my eyelashes I see you standing in the doorway.
There're two tall glasses on a tray. Bubbles. A champagne breakfast.
You're only wearing your sweatpants, nothing else. Your hair tousled.
It's a very sexy look on you.

I feel you now sitting on the bed.
A hand glides over my stockinged leg, over the curve of my calf, up, to the back of my thigh.
The hand teasingly continues further up, to the inside of my thigh. You kiss me in my neck while your hand glides over my bum.
Your fingers play with the straps of my suspenders. I stretch myself out, a little moan of pleasure escapes my lips as if I just woke up.

I lift myself up a little, turn towards you. Your gaze swerves to my curves.
The shoulder straps of my red bra hang loosely off my shoulders; my natural breasts almost seem to spill out of the cups.
The tray is next to the bed, with two champagne glasses on it. I take a glass from the tray, take a sip.
The cool moisture tingles and sparkles in my throat, fueling my lust even more.
I raise my eyes to you and while I look at you from under my eyelashes, I tilt the glass.
A splash of cold, sparkling champagne runs down the curves of my breasts, soaking the red fabric of my bra.

You lean into me. Your hands free my soft breasts, your mouth is tasting the sweet moisture on my delicate skin, gently sucking, licking.
I tilt the glass again; the trickle runs down between my breasts, over my stomach.
Your mouth follows the sweet trail, eagerly, greedily, from my nipple to my belly, and even further down.
Then you suddenly make me gasp. You make my body tingle like the bubbles in the glass.
But I want more, I want to feel your whole body. I take your head in my hands. "Come…" I command.
You push your sweatpants down, just below your buttocks.

I spread my long, high-heeled legs and feel you entering me, delectably big and warm and hard and deep.
I empty the glass that I am still holding over your naked buttocks. A short shriek of shock, and you're thrusting even deeper in me now, even harder.
I drop the glass and taste the tingling, sweet moisture on your lips.


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