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“Only if you promise me more of your big cock in the morning,” I smiled as I fondled that dying cock.

“If you keep playing like that, you may not have to wait until morning.”

“I’d like that,’’ and kept playing.

And hour later, Carlos was on top of me banging the shit out of me. I was underneath him; my ass like a perpetual motion machine. We were grunting, moaning, sighing.

It was in the morning light that things got a little awkward. Maybe more than a LITTLE awkward.

Between my breasts, I have a small mole. It’s no bigger than a quarter of a dime. Mr. Murton called it a beauty mark. When he rubbed his face between my tits, he had a close up view of it.

On my pubic bone just above my opening, on the left side I have another mole. Until I had my first wax, I’d never noticed it. My pubic hair covered it. Mr. Murton called it a beauty mark. It was about half the size of a dime.

In the morning light, Carlos saw both of them. Playing with my tits, it stood out against my pale breasts. When he went down on me, he could help but see the other one. It was right at eye level while his tongue was busy. His amazing tongue.

I wasn’t self-conscious about either one and the way Carlos ate me, I never gave it a thought. His tongue was, like I said, amazing and my orgasms were mind blowing. The fucking later, which I begged for were as good if not better than last night.

It was later that morning when we were recovering that he put his hand on the mole between my breasts. “You know my grandfather talked about this Anita in his delusional state who had a beauty mark on her titty.”

I blushed, blaming it on the fucking we’d just finished. “Well, it’s not really on my breast, is it?”

“No, but he also said that in his fantasy that the girl of his dreams had a similar beauty mark on her pussy.” His hand slid between my legs.

“Ummmm, Carlos, think about it, I don’t think that women of your grandfather’s generation shaved or got a wax. I’m guessing that the last year or so of his life, he had hallucinations. I’ve read that some of the meds they give people will do that. Now, after what your tongue did to me this morning, don’t you think that it’s only right that I return the favor?” I changed the subject.

I didn’t wait for an answer. I went down on him. Carlos had cum twice last night and once this morning. It took a long time.

His cock felt big when we were fucking. In the morning light, it looked big. Long and fat like his grandfather’s. All the fucking we’d done and the way Carlos ate my pussy, invigorated me. I was at my best; my cocksucking best.

I stayed at Carlos’ until Sunday.

Monday morning when I arrived at the studio, the make-up artist said, “Anita, you must have had a great weekend. I don’t need as much blush as usual, but I am going to have to do something about your lips, and we’ll have to tell the cameramen not to get too much of a close-up this morning. You’re a lucky woman.”

Could I have got any redder? The make-up artist was a woman my mom’s age. She knew; she had to know.

For the next year, Carlos and I were a couple. Every weekend was a fucking, cocksucking, pussy eating weekend. Every Monday morning the make-up artist made the same comments as she applied blush and did my lips. “You’re a lucky woman, Anita.”

When I had my period, it was a cocksucking weekend with Carlos. Monday morning, “Damn Anita, what did you do this weekend? Your lips are a mess.”

I didn’t need any blush for the cameras.

It ended when I applied for a big time job on the west coast. Among the tapes I sent was the interview of Mr. Murton’s ninetieth birthday party. They loved it. It was the clincher.

Mr. Carlos Murton I still brought a smile to my face. Carlos Murton III insisted on one final weekend together. It was a pussy eating weekend. While his tongue was busy, he ran a finger around that beauty mark. I’m sure he wondered how his grandpa knew.

I had a smile on my face the entire flight to California.

THE END

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