Friday's child is loving and giving ...
The scent of apples and cinnamon wafted through the narrow space that was allegedly a state-of-the-art kitchen. Diane Astor made do with it, though. It really did have all the modern conveniences one expected; even if they were, perhaps, a tad smaller than you might normally find elsewhere. While the first couple of batches of tarts cooled on a makeshift rack across one side of the sink, she reread the well-used recipe card before her and munched on left over bits of apple.
It had been an age since she'd had gone through the trouble of handmaking a complete dinner from scratch. But having someone special to cook for made all the difference in the world. Diane flipped casually through the notes she had made on possible choices for the main entree. The chime from the oven alerted her that it was time to check on the latest menu item before she slipped in to wake up Donald.
She opened the door and leaned back from the escaping heat, then bent down and drew the cookie sheet out. Diane set it on the right hand pair of burners and looked the freshly baked, golden brown piecrust over. The tarts were strictly appetizers and treats. Apple pie a la mode was the real dessert. Satisfied that it was ready, she left it to cool and removed her apron.
After hanging the apron on its hook, Diane poured a tall glass of orange juice and splashed the top of it with some ginger ale. She took just a taste then headed towards the bedroom.
From the doorway, she stopped to regard Donald. He was still sleeping, naturally. It seemed he slept almost all the time, but that was fine with Diane. While he was sleeping she knew where he was and what he was doing. It took a lot of the worry off her mind. And left her free to think about what she wanted to do for him next. A smile crossed her face as one such thought came to mind.
She sat her glass on one of the bureaus, and eased herself slowly onto the mattress next to Donald. Bit by bit, she edged one hand beneath the sheet and along his thigh. It was firm and muscular, like most of his body, but Diane noticed a loss in tone. She would have to make sure Donald had a bit more exercise this week, she decided, as she gently made her way to his groin.
Donald stirred at the touch. Both his entire body—that turned and shifted slightly while a small questioning murmur slipped from his throat—as well as his cock, that twitched and stretched and seemed to lean itself towards Diane's questing fingers.
She stroked him. He moaned in his sleep as her fingers caressed the growing length of his shaft and slipped below to let it continue to enlarge within the protective grasp of her palm. As Diane's hand worked, she brushed the sheet aside to better see what she was doing.
The pink-and-purple cock in her hand looked like it needed more attention, so she leaned over to breathe on it and brush her tongue across its tip. Donald's eyes opened, and he stretched out his entire body. At first, he tried to roll himself closer to Diane, but she pressed him back into the bed. He thrust his hips forward and up, instinctively trying to press his cock once more over Diane's tongue or past her lips into her mouth.
The look in her eyes as she met his gaze was full of fire and want, but it held a silent command to remain still and let her do this for him. Donald squirmed. He rocked from side to side, but Diane's hand simply closed firmly around his cock and held him in place as she dipped her head down and let him enter her. Donald relaxed some at the sudden pleasure--wet, warm, and intense. Diane released the hold her hand and fingers had upon the main part of Donald's shaft. They retained a grip at the base, however, to support him and give her a better angle for bobbing against his lap.
