Today was a different day and Jack so looked forward to it. Tara and Jack had fallen into a regimen of rapture with one another, which paradoxically remained eternally fresh and spontaneous. A regimen of no regimen if you will.
Today was that one day of the month Tara picked just to play with him, stoking not only his love but his devotion to her. Tara's pleasure did however, like the other 29 days of the month, remain paramount to Jack. He badly wanted it that way, and drew great sustenance from it. Their sense of equality with one another, did again paradoxically, remain unaffected.
They both shared a love of natural meats, eggs, and coffee for breakfast. This was pretty much standard for them. Many variations followed forthwith. But this day was all about sweets.
Although slightly mitigated by Columbian coffee, this was all about the lush decadent taste of sweet. Dripping wet, runny red rich cherries, yummy shortcake, and an overly healthy portion of whipped cream.
Jack had it waiting for her when she came shuffling down to the breakfast table. That shuffle he so adored, a shuffle that announced its Sunday, and I am in my pink flannel. You will pamper me accordingly.
The cuisine was put together from ingredients from the store. Sticky wet dark red cherries. Faint inducing sweet whipped cream, and finally, delectable shortbread. Jack and Tara each had a rather large piece, which in good measure, nearly filled the dinner plate it was placed upon.
Tara told me to wait on my shortcake as I picked up a fork to not do that very thing, wait. She was a reader, and we shared a paper over her eating shortcake with coffee and me drinking coffee. I put some infamous coffemate in as a creamer just to get a taste of sweet. You know, that 70's creation that used to grow green hair on your chest. This was my one pain to those who used to smoke and drink freely.
Sunday was always lovely, and my mind couldn't help but wander on to the ultimate outcome for my runny, dripping shortcake. No clues were forthcoming by Tara for me at the table. Instead I was forced to read the box score of the Las Vegas hockey team among other banalities on the sports page.
After a thoroughly enjoyable interlude, i saw her put her arms up and stretch in that incredibly sexy way Tara stretched, and sigh with satisfaction, all in pink flannel.
Tara spoke to me. "Honey, bring your shortcake with you into the bedroom, and pick up two white kingsized bath towels from the bathroom. Bring them with you, and bring extra whipped cream from the fridge. Oh and give me 5 minutes."
Those five minutes found me centering my attention and gave me that woozy dazed feeling I so adored. Blood rushed between my thighs, as I gathered the towels forthwith and preceded to the bedroom.
Tara was perched there, lying on her bed, her legs spread, feet planted, and knees up, invitingly. The bottom half of her pink flannels were nowhere to be seen. She patted the bed with her hand and motioned for me to give her the white towels. Tara scooted under them.
What happened next I will never forget. "Honey, here is what I want you to do. Scoot up on the bed next to me and bring the shortcake and the cream. There. Set it down. Now I want you to slowly, lovingly, make love to my thighs and pussy with those talented lips and tongue of yours. I will tell you when to stop."
