Black lace, handkerchief folded, sitting atop the tabletop.
Pussy soiled not shop fresh.
Fabric sodden. Ambrosia coated.
Your unique aroma battling with coffee grinds for my attention.
And my nostrils revel in you.
Perched and positioned on your throne.
Attentively flushed and breathy.
Feet wrapped around chair legs.
Seat edge biting into tempting buttocks.
Thighs wide.
Exposed.
Dripping.
Rosebud swollen.
Anal star swimming as your juices pool.
Trapped in our excluding bubble as the din and bluster of humanity unheeded plays out.
Rain clatters into steam laden glass.
Droplets trickle.
Instructed.
Delicate digits feed wadded lace into your gaping, waiting mouth.
