The kitchen smells of sugar and vanilla, the afternoon light falling warm through the window above the sink. Alexis stands at the center island, on the counter before her sits a bowl of cake icing, white and thick, the kind that crusts slightly when left alone. She dips two fingers into it, pulls them out dripping, and holds them up for you to see. The icing clings to her skin, heavy and slow.

She begins with her left breast, cupping it from beneath with her clean hand, lifting the weight. With her fingers she paints a stripe across the top, the icing cool against her skin, leaving a white trail from her sternum toward her n*pple. She adds another stripe, then another, working in silence, her eyes on yours. The icing is thick enough to hold its shape, building in ridges and swirls across her flesh.

She switches hands, lifts her right breast, repeats the process. The weight of them makes the icing slide slightly, gravity pulling the white trails downward, toward her ribs, her stomach. She does not rush. She adds more, dipping her fingers again and again, until both breasts are striped like zebra hide, the dark pink of her nipples still visible through the gaps.

Then she begins to spread it.

Her palms flatten against her chest, the icing squelching, smearing, turning from defined trails into a uniform coat. She works in circles, massaging the sugar and fat into her skin, her fingers sinking into the softness of her own flesh. The white covers her c*mpletely now, from her collarbones to the undersides of her breasts, hiding her nipples, her areolas, everything beneath a layer of sweet frosting.

She lifts them, one at a time, spreading the icing beneath, coating the heavy undersides where they rest against her ribs. She presses them together, creating cleavage, the icing oozing from between them, dripping down her stomach in white rivers. She pulls them apart, the suction making a soft sound, and begins again, adding more, building the layer thicker.

When she is satisfied, she stands back, presenting herself. Her 38 DDD breasts are c*mpletely covered, white and gleaming, the icing already beginning to crust at the edges where her body heat has not yet reached. She bounces slightly on her heels, testing the weight, watching the icing jiggle and settle. She pinches her nipples through the coating, the pressure making white peaks, then smooths them away.

She gestures to the cabinet above the refrigerator. You find the sprinkles there, a plastic jar of rainbow cylinders, bright and artificial. She holds out her hand, palm up, and you pour. The sprinkles h*t her skin with a sound like rain, scattering across the white icing, sticking where they land. She closes her hand around the ones in her palm, then opens it, presses her palm to her left breast, leaving a print of color in the white.

You pour more. She tilts her head back, closes her eyes, lets you cover her. The sprinkles land on her chest, her shoulders, some falling to the tile at her feet. They stick to the icing in random patterns, clusters of red and bl*e and yellow and green, turning her breasts into something between dessert and art.

When the jar is empty, she opens her eyes. She looks down at herself, smiles, and begins to play.

Her hands move over her chest, pressing, lifting, spreading the icing and sprinkles together into a mess of color and white. She squeezes her breasts, the icing oozing between her fingers, the sprinkles grinding into the softening coating. She pulls at her nipples, the icing cr*cking slightly, revealing the dark pink beneath, then covers them again with fresh smears from her palms.

She lifts her right breast, brings it toward her face, and l*cks. Her tongue comes away white, sprinkled with color. She l*cks again, cleaning a patch near her n*pple, the icing sweet and thick on her tongue. She switches sides, l*cking her left breast, her chin bumping against the soft weight, leaving her own smear of white and color.

Her fingers find her nipples, roll them through the coating, the sensation making her breath catch. She massages in slow circles, the icing warming, growing softer, more pliable. It drips now, falling in white drops to the tile, to her feet, to the counter behind her. She does not care. She works her hands over her chest, kneading, pressing, the sprinkles embedding in her skin, the icing turning from white to a pale rainbow where the colors blend together.

She brings her fingers to her mouth, sucks them clean, the sugar exploding sweet against her tongue. She returns her hands to her breasts, adds more pressure, more motion, the mess spreading, thinning, turning her chest into a slick canvas of color and sweetness. She bounces again, harder this time, the weight of her breasts making the icing fly in small drops, the sprinkles scattering.

Food Masturbation Food Stuffing Food P*rn Hot Wife Alexis Messy Cake Icing On Huge Tits - With N*pple Play, Bouncing Boobs, Titty Squeezing with C4s.com

Food Masturbation Food Stuffing Food Prn Hot Wife Alexis Messy Cake Icing On Huge Tits - With Npple Play, Bouncing Boobs, Titty Squeezing with C4s.com