A Glorious Day

She loves her herbal and fruit teas. Peppermint. Rosehip. Apple and Cinnamon. Lemon and Ginger. This morning she is having Rosehip. And as always, as is only proper and refined, she is using her Fine Bone China teapot and a cup and saucer from the same set. She sits in the kitchen after her shower, absent-mindedly stroking a pack of cigarettes, about to enjoy the first of three cigarettes she allows herself daily. She will wait for her tea to steep before she lights up.

Her silk dressing gown is lime green, patterned with bold red flowers in thick black outlines. She reflects with serene satisfaction on the fact that lime green always looks so exquisitely dynamic on dark brown skin such as hers. She pours herself a cup of the scarlet-hued tea and while it cools she listens to the birdsong beyond the open window. It will be another bright, warm summer day. The sunlight already has that fine clear vibrancy to it.

Then he staggers sleepily into the kitchen in his blue boxers, waves absently at her and starts making himself a coffee. She examines the milkiness of his white back in the vivid morning light, his lithe, supple torso, his strong arms, and that stunning shock of snow-white hair to his square shoulders. He's a beautiful young man, she affirms to herself. However, she is none too impressed by his blasé, almost offhand greeting. She decides, in fact, that she is somewhat miffed about it, and she feels displeasure souring the edges of her countenance.

No, this will not do. Not at all. He requires a reprimand. She clears her throat. He turns to look at her with his sleepy blue eyes. He is ridiculously good looking. And he knows it. Smug bastard. Just how she likes them; handsome and smug. And a little bit rude of course, otherwise there's simply no room for improvement. And she does like her young men to be teachable.

She beckons him with a finger and he comes and stands in front of her.

"You really don't know you're alive, do you?" she asks.

"Sorry?" he mumbles.

"It's foolish, not to mention downright immoral of you, to stagger through life so utterly oblivious to the God-given splendour and beauty all around you."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean," he says with a bemused shake of his head, his dozy features crimped with a frown.

"Evidently. However," she persists, "you will need to find out very quickly."

"What are you talking about?"

"How long have we been dating?" she asks.

"About three weeks, I guess."

"Well, let me advise you, it would be foolhardy of you to think it will be for much longer if it transpires that you do not have what I'm looking for in a man."

"What's that then?"

"Essentially," she elucidates as she takes a cigarette from the pack and places it beside her lighter, "appreciation. Everything else flows from that."

"I understand," he says, reaching out and holding her hand. "You know I appreciate you."

"I'm far from clear you even appreciate what appreciation is," she says, removing her hand from his.

Obviously baffled, he shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. "Can I finish making my coffee?" he inquires with the faintest edge of irritation in his voice.

"No, you may not," she says curtly.

He frowns, perplexed, uncertain. She loves this moment of hesitancy induced in a man when her tone hardens.

Time for a lesson.

She tugs the top of her bathrobe aside, exposing her full, mature bosom.

"Aren't these simply magnificent?" she asks, her hands stroking the heavy round undersides of her dark breasts.

He is mesmerised.

Her fingers circle her large areolae and she flicks her nipples.

"I asked you a fucking question," she says.

"Yes... yes... they are," he answers.

She slides her hands down over her tummy, opening her dressing gown further until the front panels fall either side of her hips, revealing her lap and her crossed legs. Stroking her smooth thighs, and glancing up to confirm his rapt attention, she inquires, "See how silky my legs are?"

"Yes," he says.

She can tell he is struggling to swallow, as if his mouth is drying out. She uncrosses her legs and sits with them apart to display her full dark bush in all its transcendent glory.

She notices a little twitch in his boxers.

She rubs her mons pubis and then begins to finger herself with two fingers, luxuriating in the memory of how that big cock felt inside her last night. Thrilling tremors convulse her nervous system. She stops and removes her fingers and waves her hand in front of his face.

"Fancy a taste?" she asks.

"Yes please," he says, his eyes widening with glee.

And he leans forward expectantly, but she withdraws her hand.

"Well," she tells him, "if you had any idea how to behave, you could be breakfasting on this sticky coochie heaven right now."

"Can I?"

"No," she says. And then, pointing at his boxers, "But you can take those down."

He takes a moment to process the instruction before pulling his boxers down around his thighs, revealing his growing enthusiasm.

"Okay," she continues, contemplating his swelling erection, "so now you're beginning to understand what I mean about appreciation."

She fingers herself again for a moment or two, watching his cock stiffening to rigidity, and then tastes herself on her fingers. "Hmm," she says, "so rich, so tangy, so delicious. Remember how deliriously happy your naughty dick felt inside me last night?"

"Er, yeah," he smirks.

"Wouldn't you like to feel that happy again now?"

"Yes please."

"Well, you've blown it. But you can jerk off instead."

"Jerk off?"

"Yes. You know how to do that, don't you? Do it now. Masturbate for me," she orders him tersely.

He begins to stroke himself.

She tests the temperature of the outside of her tea cup. Just right. She sips her tea, watching him closely over the rim of the cup.

"Slowly does it," she tells him, and sets her tea down. She picks up her cigarette and her lighter and lights up as she surveys the rewarding spectacle of this smug white bastard pleasuring himself at the sight of her. She exhales a billowing cloud of smoke around his pale torso and watches it caress his form as it swirls and disperses into the bright morning light. She enjoys that first dizzying hit of the nicotine and ponders his fate.

"Leave it alone," she says and slaps his hand away from his firm shaft.

Such a lovely cock, she reflects, studying the pink and blue veins just beneath the surface of the translucent creamy skin, and the bold, sturdy anatomy with its big bulbous pink head, and the hungry readiness of its full, eager arousal.

"See how much you desire me?" she muses, pointing to his erect penis with the fingers with which she holds her cigarette.

He nods.

"See how enthused your mind, your senses and your flesh are at the thought of being immersed in me?"

He nods again.

"How desperately you crave the satisfaction I can give?"

"Yes," he says, "I see."

"So don't you think, therefore," she inquires, "that I deserve more than a cursory wave of the hand when you see me?"

"Yes, you're right, you're right," he admits, "I'm very sorry."

"Good," she says, "Glad to hear it. Now you can get down on your knees and show me just how sorry you really are."

He kneels.

"You may continue to masturbate," she tells him.

He resumes his self-stimulation.

"And I think it's only appropriate that you kiss my feet to show me that you really do indeed appreciate me."

He leans forwards on his knees, supporting himself with one hand on the floor while continuing to stroke himself with the other.

She does not lift a foot towards him.

He stoops low to kiss first one foot and then the other.

"Good boy," she says.

He strains to look up at her.

"Keep going," she tells him.

He carries on kissing her feet.

She takes another sip of her tea. So refreshing. She dabs the corners of her mouth. It is so distinctly gratifying, she revels inwardly, to feel the soft press of his lips lavishing warm kisses all over her feet. She draws deeply again on her cigarette, purses her lips and blows the smoke down around him, watching it swirl around his head and back.

"This is so much more satisfactory," she says. "Isn't this a much more exciting way for you to begin your day, rather than merely staggering around half asleep, waving at me like some oafish bore?"

"Yes," he agrees.

"Would you like to come?" she asks.

"Yes please," he says.

"Very well. You may kneel up and bring yourself to climax. I'll accept your tribute on my feet."

"Thank you," he says and kneels upright, pumping his hard-on with increased energy.

He is soon panting, agitated, wanking feverishly.

She flicks her ash at him. "Y'know, you're actually very fortunate I let your lily-white arse hang around at all."

"Yes, I know. Thank you," he says. And he groans as he approaches the brink.

"That's right," she says with undisguised relish. "Come for missy!"

He explodes in spasms of pleasure, his semen erupting in huge spurts all over her feet.

"Thank you, thank you," he utters breathlessly, tensing as the shudders of orgasm shake him.

"Exquisite," she says. "So much more expressive. Wasn't that more inspiring, more satisfying, than just waving at me like you can't be arsed?"

"Yes," he agrees sheepishly, catching his breath. "I'll get a tissue and wipe my cum off your feet."

"You'll do no such thing," she says. "Leave it. I like it there. It'll dry nicely, and be a lovely reminder throughout the day of how incredibly appreciative of me you really are. Now get on with whatever you were doing."

He gets up, thanking her and kissing one of her knees as he rises. He pulls his boxers back up and wipes his sticky hand on the material as he nestles his tender cock back inside. Then he returns to making his coffee.

She moves to pull her gown back across her front but stops herself, deciding she likes sitting with her bold nakedness unhidden in the fine early sunlight. She sits back and sips her tea and finishes her cigarette. The faintest of cool breezes momentarily caresses her face and the backs of her hands and the orbs of her breasts and then is gone again.

"What a glorious day," she observes.

"Yes," he agrees. "Glorious."