Sinfully sweet, liquid and decadent, the chocolate body paint was trailed languorously over her breasts, down her stomach. He paid particular attention to her nipples, stroking it on with the soft-bristled brush, licking it off.
Now over her delicate labia, painting it over her folds and sensitive clit, teasing with light strokes, before lapping and sucking her into a pool of writhing, screaming ecstasy.
Proudly, he surveyed the results of his ministrations. She was a breathless, sticky, sated mess, in a tangle of smeared bedsheets.
“Just one more thing, darling,” she whispered sultrily. “It’s your week for the laundry.”
