Morning pans

Morning, barefoot on the mat, chef shirt untucked, copper quiet on the rack. I am telling the phone with a glass of water in my other hand because Enzo is still catching his breath on the stool. Forty-three. I woke him with a hand on his chest and a question. Do you want my mouth on your cock before coffee. He said only if you want to give it. I said I woke up wanting the taste of your cock. That was the whole negotiation, and it was enough.

I walked him down to the kitchen because I like the light on the pans and the floor is easier on my knees than it sounds. Shirt open, nothing under it. I knelt and took his cock in slow, morning-soft at first and then not. I kept my eyes up. He said I looked unreal with my hair half out of the bun and my mouth full of his cock, and then he apologized for talking. I pulled off and said talk, I like it, and do not thrust. He nodded. I sucked his cock deeper on my terms, hand cupping his balls, until he was shaking and saying please, I am close. I stayed and took his cum, swallowing, then kissed him so he could taste the morning on my tongue.

He said his turn before I could stand. He put me on the stool, spread my knees, and licked my cunt like a man returning a favor he enjoys. Slow at the clit, two fingers crooked in my cunt just right, his other hand spanning my bare foot on the mat. I came with my heel sliding and my shirt falling off one shoulder. I said fuck my cunt with your cock, now, and I want you to cum again if you can. He put his cock into my cunt, thick after the first orgasm, and fucked me in short deep strokes while the light moved on the copper. I rubbed my clit and came around his cock. He followed, groaning into my neck, softer the second time. Coffee can happen. The pans can wait. My mouth is happy and so is the rest of me.