Sunday Morning

You look so male in the gathering light.
Your face relaxed but so strong.
A tiny smile lurking at the corner of your sleeping mouth.

Stunned by your sheer male presence
I gaze, fascinated, as the light begins to edge around the blind
And the tips of my fingers itch to touch you.

I debate
Whether to position your flaccid cock at the entrance to my body
And kiss you awake and see if you "grow into the role" or
Whether to burrow under the covers, take you into my mouth
And hope to wake you, gasping - and grinning.

Flipping a mental coin I slither under the doona,
Nibble along the length of your penis with my lips.
I lick the tip and feel my nose nudged as you stir.
My beautiful, beautiful man.

You also partially roll to your back and I freeze,
Not wanting to wake you yet.
Your penis has lost its flaccid silkiness,
Taken on a spongy bulk.
I suck the tip past my teeth and close my lips around the shaft.

By now I think it is a good idea if you wake
And I scratch your belly, so gently,
From navel to pubes and then grasp the base of your cock.
With the other hand I run my nails from inner knee to balls
Suddenly you are rock hard in my mouth.

"Good morning." I hear.

That is certainly my intention.

I run my tongue around the head and hear you gasp.
I hear your breathing quicken,
As I plunge your cock to the back of my throat
I feel my own body clamp down in ways it only does
When you are inside me.

My cunt is longing for you,
My mouth very happy,
Sucking and licking the length of you.
I wander off to lick your balls
Then return to take your purple head again.

Your hips are moving vaguely,
Your eyes somewhat unfocussed,
Tiny moans issue from your lips
And as I press under your balls
I flick your nipple
And feel the contractions with my lips
And the tension in your belly subside
And your hand in my hair,
Caressing.