He lays his significant other down, kissing and caressing the satin-smooth curves and slick crevices of her soft body. He slides his tongue down her neck to her chest, languishing in a round of neglijah (sp?) before planting wet kisses along her writhing body, slowly zeroing in on her velvety nest.
He places his hands under her round buttocks and gently lifts her writhing growler to his face. He languidly opens his mouth, extends his tongue and eagerly indulges in the soft mounds of sour cream that await him. His mouth is quickly smeared with with white, shot through with streaks of tart, green guacamole. He nibbles on the tufts of shredded lettuce sprouting from the heart of her spicy, meaty center. Cheese drips from his chin and into his beard, only to be caught by a flick of his greedy tongue.
Her body quivers as he then slides his tongue along the doughy, salsa-slick walls of her outer lips. He is lost in ecstasy, taking in mouthfuls of her womanhood, blind to all but the chile scented rivulets running over his tongue and down his thirsty throat. They both succumb to the wave of shared bliss as he eats his way down to the core of her climax, leaving nothing behind in his wake. She lets out a moan, pressing his face into the sticky remains of her love mound, now a hollowed-out, tender bowl.
He gently nestles her sleeping form against his lupine chest and smiles, slipping into a blissful sleep. For he knows that in the morning, a breakfast burrito awaits.
Bravestar
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