Bringing Home The Bacon

On Sunday morning, I am wrapped around you like a blanket, drawing a smiley face in your chest hair.
“I’m hungry.” I say. It’s 10am, at 9.30am I was spread-eagled on the sheet, your face nestled between my thighs with my fingers knotted in your hair.
“Hmmmm. I’m hungry too.”
“Bacon sandwich?”
“I ate the last of the bacon yesterday.” At 9.45am I was riding you, the mains-powered wand grinding my clit and you were using me in my favourite way as I came for a second time and you flooded my cunt.
“Hmmmm.” I frowned. “So, you’ll go and get the bacon?”
He laughed and held me tighter. “Yes, kitten – I will go and buy some bacon.”
“Good.” but as he tried to pull away and sit upright I threw my legs over his.
“But you stay here where it’s warm.”
“Ok…..” He lay back down. I bit into the flesh of his bicep.
“But where’s the bacon?”
“In the shop.”
“Ok you go and get the bacon. But also stay here.”
“Kitten……”
“Where’s the bacon?”
There was a pause.
“In the shop.”
“Ok. You go and get the bacon but also stay here where it’s warm and I can cuddle you. Ok?”
“Ok, I’ll stay here but also get out of bed and go to the shop where the bacon is and you can stay here and keep the bed warm for me and then I will come back and cook the bacon and get back into bed for the cuddles to continue. Ok?”
“But….You stay here?”
“How much do you want a bacon sandwich?”

In his defence, it was a very good bacon sandwich.

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