She was eyeing up a row of muffins in the glass case thinking about how she was about to undo all that treadmill torture in about 2 minutes flat when ...he saw him. He was tall — at least 6’6” with short jet black hair streaked with flecks of red, brown and blonde. His black t-shirt molded to his extremely broad shoulders and exposed tanned arms corded with muscle. His jeans stretched over long, strong legs. His eyes were an odd shade of coppery gold which sparkled as they bore into her. She felt. Turned on another level by her win, she pulled my head down her body, spread her legs high and wide, pulled her skirt up with her other hand and buried my face into her pussy. She was not wearing any panties. I was getting a look at it, the fine hair: the short bush of it at the top, lining up on the sides of the way down. The rose! The rose that I am obsessed with, to unravel it, to separate the petals with my fingers when with a sudden push she thrust my face into it and my tongue entered. More

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