Morning coffee with Nadia

I sat on the stool drinking coffee, completely naked.

The kitchen was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. Morning light cut across the island. I took another slow sip and looked at her.

Nadia was standing a few feet away, also naked. I could see the clean line of her back, the soft fall of dark hair down it, the way she waited. I snapped my fingers once, sharp and quiet.

She came to me immediately and dropped to her knees between my open thighs. For a second I watched the curve of her back as she settled, hair sliding forward over one shoulder. Then her eyes lifted to mine — brown, already a little glassy — before she lowered them and leaned in.

I was still soft. She took me into her mouth carefully, warm and wet, and started working me with slow pulls of her tongue and lips. I grew harder against her tongue while I kept drinking my coffee. Every so often the soft weight of her breasts brushed against my bare legs as she moved. I felt them — warm, heavy, the occasional drag of a nipple — but I didn’t look down. I just let her continue.

Toast popped up. I reached over, buttered a slice with one hand, and took a bite. Crumbs fell. I didn’t brush them off.

Then I set the mug down, shifted my hips forward, and pushed her head down. My cock slid past her tongue and into her throat. She gagged once. Her eyes watered. Her hair fell forward in a dark curtain as I held her there, then started fucking her face in slow, deep strokes.

Wet, choked sounds filled the kitchen. Spit ran down her chin. Her breasts kept brushing and pressing against my thighs every time I pulled her forward. I could feel the soft give of them, the way they moved with her body while I used her mouth. Tears streaked her cheeks. She didn’t pull away.

I kept eating toast with my free hand, calm, while I face-fucked her.

“That’s it,” I muttered around a mouthful of food. “Take it. You’re already drooling all over yourself and I haven’t even finished breakfast.”

Her throat convulsed around me every time I pushed deep. The soft weight of her tits stayed against my legs, warm and constant. I didn’t rush. I just used her until I came — a low breath, a hard pulse against the back of her throat. I held her there until she swallowed everything, then pulled out slowly.

A thick string of spit and cum stretched from her swollen bottom lip before it broke.

She sat back on her heels, gasping, eyes still wet, the line of her back curved as she caught her breath. I could still feel the ghost of her breasts on my skin.

I stood up without looking at her again.

“Shower’s yours if you want it. I’ve got a call in twenty.”

I walked toward the bedroom and left her there on the kitchen floor.