“Okay,” she says, sitting back up straight and letting go of me. “I guess I am lazy.”
“You’re such a bitch,” I laugh.
“Eh, you’ve got to love what you do.”
I hand her the condoms and tease her, saying, “Make yourself useful, will you? I’m busy here.”
If she was going to protest, that protest is averted as I pull the front of her top down over her breasts.
“Hey, it looks like you’re wearing your special bra, too,” I chuckle and take one of her nipples into my mouth.
“Don’t forget the whipped cream,” she says, closing her teeth on the corner of the condom wrapper and tearing it open.
She spits the corner of the wrapper out of her mouth and at me, but she’s not a very good aim.
I grab the can of whipped cream, dairy-free whipped cream, that is, and I spread a puff of it on one of her nipples, and then the other.
“What would you do if I just left it like that?” I ask.
“I’d kick your ass,” she says. “You’re going to lick the whipped cream off my nipples and you’re going to love it.”
“So demanding…”
I run my tongue around her nipple before closing my lips to take the sweet embellishment into my mouth, the warm, erect bit at the center being the real prize.
“Shit,” she says, “I’m dripping.”
“Hold on,” I mumble, the tip of her breast still in my mouth.
“I don’t know if you’ve already forgotten or what,” she says, “but I’m not wearing a bra. If I get whipped cream on my top, I’m not going to be v
ery happy. It’ll look like I’m lactating or something.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I tell her, my voice still muffled by her soft mound.
I look over to her other breast, and indeed, the whipped cream is starting to drip down her breast. I’ve still got a couple of inches before it makes contact with any fabric, though.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks. “Get that shit before it stains my shirt!”
I try to respond, but apparently it’s rather difficult to shush someone with their breast in your mouth. Finally, at the last possible moment, I move my mouth from one breast to the other, licking the smooth cream from the bottom all the way up to her nipple.
“Jesus, you about gave me a heart attack,” she says.
“What’s the big deal?” I mumble, having found a rather enjoyable new hobby.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?”
“Hmm?” I hum, and as I watch the goosebumps rise across her chest, she’s already forgotten her protest.
She grabs my erection with one hand and slips the condom over my tip with the other.
“You’ve lost whipped cream privileges,” she says.
I remove my mouth from her breast and shrug before kissing her deeply.
She works the condom the rest of the way over me, and she puts her legs around me, her feet on my ass, and she encourages me forward, my cock still in her hand.
“Did you bring a towel or something?” I ask.