Valentine’s Breakfast

4 min read

photo: SexArt

You forgot it was Valentine’s Day? Time to make it up to her…

I come down for breakfast and she’s perched on a barstool with Saturday’s LA Times spread out in front of her, across the marble table top.

“Coffee’s fresh,” Rosalinda says, looking up briefly from the entertainment section.

She’s wearing my dress shirt, unbuttoned, one pert breast partially exposed, as is the taut tanned skin of her stomach… but the breakfast bar gets in the way and I can see no further. She continues to read, ignoring me while I pour myself a coffee, put some bread in the toaster, grab some eggs from the fridge. I look over at her, fine blonde hair falling across her face, slender, pastel-nailed fingers sweeping it back in a motion she doesn’t even notice. Something about the way she’s sitting, ass just slightly further back on the seat than normal as she leans over the newspaper, makes my cock stir beneath the cotton of my pants.

I walk round behind her, see my shirt tail draping down over the back of the barstool and wonder if she’s wearing any panties. I hope not. I pretend to read over her shoulder, awards season headlines, lean into her, and sweep her long blonde hair to fall on only one side of her neck. She protests at first, a lazy ‘please-stop-but-please-don’t-stop’ tone to her voice, then sighs and moves her head, offering her neck to me, flawless skin that disappears beneath the shirt collar. I start at her ear, just nibbling at the soft pink lobe, waiting for her to shiver before I move onto her neck, the softest kisses, and she pushes back into my naked torso. I take my hands to her chest, delicate touches across her collarbones, touches that sweep down her breasts, one hand now playing at her quickly hardening nipples while the other continues its descent, pausing as she tenses her stomach, feeling her flutter under my touch. She twists her head into mine and our lips touch, tongue flickering out to meet mine as she sighs again under my caresses and I breathe her in.

My fingers trace below her belly button, delicate as feathers across her inner thighs, as she reaches one hand backwards towards my cock, rising hard against my pants, and my hands leave her breasts for just a moment to untie the cord that holds them at my hips, letting them slide down my legs to the floor. Her kisses are more passionate now as her fingers grip hard at my dick and she wiggles backwards across the barstool, her ass round and tight, and I realize that she isn’t wearing panties after all. I slide my shirt up her back and my hand goes to her ass, fingers caressing the flesh of her pussy hanging over the back of the barstool. I slide a finger across the slit, between soaking lips pulled tight by the way she’s sitting, slipping one inquisitive digit between the folds of her pussy while I bite into her shoulder and she tries to nip at my ear. She pulls my dick towards her and I begin to rub the head against those taut juicy lips, her cream coating my cock, and I slide it inside.

She cries out, tensing as I push further into her, and she leans forwards across the newspaper, stretching her back and her ass, my fingers tracing across her as my cock pushes in and out of her sublime pussy. I pull the shirt from her back leaving her naked, muscles long beneath flawless tanned skin. My hands rest on her ass, pulling her cheeks apart, watching her asshole move as my dick pushes into her pussy, rolling my thumb across the twitching muscle, and she shivers and moans under my touch. My free hand pulls at her hair, gently to start, now harder, forcing her head back, forcing her back to arch, stretching her stomach and breasts. My hand goes to her throat, feeling the beat of her heart through the pulse in her swan-like neck. My thrusting quickens, and I feel her pussy begin to contract, trying to squeeze my cock from her, and I push back, harder and harder as she climaxes, loud cries torn from her mouth.

“Time to change it up one,” she says breathlessly.

The butter dish is right there, right next to her hand, and she pushes it back towards me and I know what she wants.

“Paul would be proud,” I say, loading my fingers with butter and smearing it across her asshole, pushing my fingers into her ass, greasing her up before turning to my cock; sliding my butter-covered fingers up and down the shaft. She pushes her ass out towards me, her back curved as she tries to look behind her to see what I’m doing, to see my fat cock head rubbing against her tiny, tight asshole, pushing and pushing until with a muted yelp from her, my cock squeezes into her ass.

“Oh, fuck,” she says loudly. “Oh, fuck.” As I slide more and more of my cock into her; her asshole a delicious constriction gripping my shaft. I begin short, slow thrusts of my hips, each time pushing myself deeper and deeper into her ass, and she puts her hands on the edge of the marble and pushes back into me. As my cock slides in and out of her, her asshole begins to loosen, greeting my cock, and I fill her as deeply as I can, to the wide base of my cock, my balls hitting her pussy with a soft slap at every thrust. Rosalinda reaches down between her legs and begins to rub across her pussy, strumming her clit, fucking herself with her fingers while my dick plunges into her. I pull out briefly to look down at her asshole, wide open before me, before slipping back into her, her asshole like a velvet glove.

Her cries increase in volume and her hand in speed and she’s suddenly cumming again, her asshole trying and failing to contract around my cock but her shouts, the glistening skin of her sweat-covered back, her matted hair, every pore in her body screaming sex as she cums, pushes me over the edge. I grip her hips and push hard into her, my head back, my legs shaking as I cum in her, over and over. Then I lean into her, kissing down her spine, as our breathing returns to normal and my cock slips from her ass.

“I’m glad we made it back to LA for Valentine’s Day,” she says, finally. I’m still spent and can barely muster a reply.

“It’s Valentine’s Day? Oh, Ros, I’m so sorry! What with the traveling it completely slipped my mind.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “What more could a girl want for Valentine’s Day than a good fucking over breakfast?”

“A good fucking over lunch?” I reply.

“And then again for dinner…”

“Don’t forget dessert…”


“Midnight snack?”

She laughs and I spin the barstool around so she’s facing me and I step in between her legs and we kiss and my dick’s already starting to thicken again.

“Brunch?” she says.

Check out other Rosalinda stories here and here.

Click here for more hot stories by C. J. Labrousse.

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