I watched her oiled hands knead the bread, the muscles of her arms rippling under the repeated action on the dough.

She caught me staring at her, just at the moment when I was licking my lips at the thought of those slick palms sliding over my cock, working my flesh to springy submission.  She chuckled as she read my thoughts and returned to her dough, no need to rush, taking her time before placing it gently into a bowl, throwing a damp towel over it and leaving it to prove.

She came to me, taking the same time and care as she did in her cooking, dropping to her knees and freeing my gently pulsing cock from my trousers.  Warm, oily floury hands closed over my length and I sighed.  The smell of dough and sex filled the afternoon air as she took me with hands, mouth and cunt.


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