Heather's First Morning

The morning broke with an uncharacteristic calm. I awoke before Heather, the pale light of dawn filtering through the window, and padded past the guest room where she lay in a peaceful slumber. In the kitchen, I methodically prepared breakfast—freshly ground coffee whose rich aroma slowly filled the room, eggs sizzling in a lightly buttered pan, golden-brown sausage links, and toast that crackled softly as it popped up from the toaster. I couldn’t help but be swept back to childhood weekends when breakfast was not just a meal but a lively family ritual, punctuated by laughter and animated chatter around a timeworn table.

The enticing scent of coffee stirred Heather from her deep slumber, and she shuffled into the kitchen, still groggy. Her little shorts and a thin tank top clung to her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, dark hair falling messily around her face.

“Good morning, bro. Something smells fantastic,” she said, her voice warm with residual sleep.

“Good morning, sleepy head. Looks like you really needed your rest. Are you hungry?” I replied, my tone teasing as I struggled to discreetly ignore the barely concealed outline of her nipples beneath the sheer fabric.

“Famished!” she declared, a half-smile tugging at her lips.

I slid a steaming plate of eggs, sausage, and toast along with a robust cup of coffee toward her. Heather pulled up a stool and began devouring her breakfast with an earnest intensity, while I joined her, savoring each bite and conversation that blossomed over the forty minutes that ensued. Our serene interlude was interrupted only by the insistent ring of the phone—Doctor Liz on the line, arranging a checkup appointment for Heather. I passed the phone to her, and as their voices mingled, Heather mentioned that she’d be off to her physical later that morning.

After breakfast, Heather disappeared to shower and change, leaving me to retreat into my workspace where I began post-processing the photos I’d captured of Kim and Erik the previous day, my focus shifting from culinary memories to digital art.

About an hour later, a determined knock at the door announced the expected visitors. I opened the door to find Doctors Mark and Liz waiting. Mark, in his comfortable tan golf shorts and a casual polo, exuded an effortless, laid-back charm. In stark contrast, Doctor Liz was a vision of alluring professionalism, clad in a tight pencil skirt and a V-neck button-down cardigan. The cardigan struggled to contain her full curves, hinting at generous contours beneath. As soon as they entered, Liz swept me into a warm embrace. The proximity allowed me to appreciate the subtle sweetness of her perfume and to feel the soft press of her breasts against my chest. In one fluid motion, her hand slipped inside my shorts and caressed me lightly, sending a shiver of anticipation up my spine.

At that exact moment, Heather turned the corner. Liz, with practiced grace, withdrew her hand to greet her. Heather, looking absolutely radiant, wore a scarlet tank top that tastefully showcased her cleavage and a white pleated skirt that flirted with modesty as it barely covered her curves. The undeniable bulge in my shorts—initially kindled by Liz’s daring touch and then reaffirmed by the sight of Heather—was impossible to ignore. I caught Heather’s knowing smirk as her eyes flickered to my state of arousal, the silent communication passing between us even as the doctors exchanged pleasantries.

After a brief introduction, the doctors departed, leaving me alone with the intensity of my desire and the lingering aroma of our shared memories. I was on the verge of indulging in a private moment when the door opened once again. This time it was Liz reappearing. She closed the door behind her with a decisive click, dropped gracefully to her knees, and reached for my shorts. With an assured touch, she slid them down, revealing my engorged arousal.

Liz’s actions were deliberate and captivating. Her soft, practiced mouth enveloped me, and I could feel each warm, wet stroke as her tongue and lips moved in hypnotic rhythm. The thin fabric of her cardigan couldn’t keep pace with the sway of her exposed breasts, which danced enticingly with every motion. As her deft movements intensified, buttons burst free from the cardigan, releasing her long, hard nipples into the cool air.

Unable to contain the mounting tension, I guided her head with a gentle but insistent hand, each motion evoking a deeper connection between our quickened breaths and palpable desire. Just as the crescendo approached, Liz’s voice, breathy and commanding, reached out:

“Cum on my tits, sweetie. I want to feel your hot jizz on my tits.”

In response, I withdrew from the steady rhythm of her mouth and, with a tidal surge of release, let a massive load spurt over her exposed, inviting chest. Every droplet was a testament to the passion that had built up between us.

As she slowly pulled herself up, buttoning her cardigan with a casual grace that belied the intensity of our encounter, Liz offered a playful nod and a soft, “Thanks, Sam.” With that, she slipped away, leaving behind the lingering evidence of our shared intimacy.

Satisfied and with a mind swirling in vivid afterglow, I took a long, cleansing shower before returning to my work amidst the quiet hum of a day reshaped by the vivid details of desire.