A comet shoots by.
I receive an e-mail, from an address I’ve never seen. The subject line: “Just for you.” The contents: two smoking hot pictures of caramel deliciousness.
In the first, the subject has opened her legs for me, and her fingers are under her sheer black panties. Is one on her clit? In her pussy? I can’t quite tell. The picture cuts off just a smidge too high. Her lime green ribbed cotton tank is hiked up enough to reveal that her belly is flat, toned. Her breasts, the curve of them, can be seen at the top of the picture. Where it ends.
And in the second, her ass: big, round, full. It’s in a g-string, barely visible from the side. Her tank top is pulled tight, lifted high enough in the back to show the g-string, but pulled down in front, over her thigh. Her right breast – C-cup, I’d guess – nearly escapes the tank, but not quite. This photo’s black and white, so the caramel color of her skin is less prominent as a feature.
Now, as I look again, I’m not sure that her skin’s caramel. The lighting in the full-color picture leaves me unsure. Who cares. Her ass, her pussy, her tits, all are delicious, and they’re for me. I’m sorry I can’t share them. And I’m sorry I don’t know anything more about this comet that seems to have passed.