Playing Basketball

“It’s almost ready!” She stood on her tip-toes to reach the fan switch above the stove. Her middle finger extended to just nudge it to the left to turn it on. “Shit…bae! Can you help me?”

“Huh? Yea…comin’.” When he walked into the kitchen, his eyes were fixed on the television, his nose picked up the smell of his favorite: shrimp Alfredo, but his eyes watched a vintage Chicago Bulls game and Mike was about to go showtime son a motherfucker.

“Bam!” He said as Mike had seemed to glide across half court and dunk over all of Detroit! “Boy, that mofo sure can,” he turned to see her struggles to reach the switch. And just like that? His switch was on!

From her feet to her ass which poked so provocatively from underneath her apron, he was mesmerized, intoxicated and profoundly stupefied by its hello. He mentally waved back. His tongue was heavy inside of his mouth and it began to water. They’d fucked before but sometimes she didn’t know her own sexy. That shit was a turn-motherfucking-on! She got up on those toes and her ass tooted up just so. Her calf muscles flexing as if to help her reach new heights, those delicious thighs when in her tight-fit yoga pants or skin-tight jeans were spread just enough apart to make a man wanna dive in between.

He slid to his knees, eyes never leaving that ass. So imperfectly round and dimply, yet smooth to the eye. It was the kind of ass you saw and wanted to lay your hands on gently, run it over and conform to it’s circular specifics. The kind of ass you took care of and adored and rubbed your face on to let it know you simply were…’Fuck it!’

When he’d gotten fully on the floor he moved his way towards it, that ass, I mean and placed himself between her feet.

His face slowly buried itself in between each cheek. Inhaling that fucking scent of vanilla and lavender! His face turned this way and that, nose trying to find that elusive hole. His tongue wanted to taste the vanilla bean that damned lotion was made from. He smelled the flower and now he wanted a taste of the lavender.

‘What the? Oooh!’ She tip-toes higher, no longer concerned with the fan, the aroma of cooking shrimp or stirring the pot. Her hands placed firmly on the stove for support. Carefully not to burn herself, she muscled up a little higher so that he could reach…just where…she…needed. ‘Ah!’

‘Damn…her pussy smells like, oh shit! Hmmmm, tastes so, so…good, fuck!’ His thoughts raced, his hands palming the globes like the very basketball he was watching. Opening her up so he could feast on her pussy. He couldn’t get in deep enough. His body now her full support as his shoulders now held her knees. She was completely over the food, breasts and face getting the steamy, skin-surfaced facial. Her moans were his cheerleaders. Her gasps were the crowd and his lips and tongue were the air apparent Michael Jordan, himself. Homeboy was going in from the sideline.

He reached further with his tongue, his lips sucking the little rosette with meaning. The more he could poke his tongue out to touch her clit, the more she pushed back so it was easier. The tip of his tongue grazed it at first. Then with a little help, he could flick it on the regular. It was enough to create a rhythm. The repeated bounce of her palmed ass on his tongue and popping noise of her ass off his lips made for some sweet melodies.

He bent down to finally taste the creamy, wet lips of her pussy because truly by now, she was soaked. His beard covered in her juices, her juices dripping off and onto his tee. His lips made the connection and she froze. He latched on, sucking with intent and most assuredly wanting more of her nectar, he flicked her clit while his lips were latched and she couldn’t escape.

She was going to cum. His mouth said so.

His thumbs held her lips apart, exposing her clit more. Opening the hole to a cavity for his wide, flat and extremely dedicated tongue to cavern into. ‘God’ as she screamed on climax had nothing on him!