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The place: My bedroom.
The time: 10 a.m. on a sunny Saturday morning.
The action: Your narrator and her lover are in their third hour of fucking. Neither has eaten breakfast.
Me: Make me come one more time and then we’ll go get breakfast.
Him, rolling on top of her: Just one more time, hm?
Me, while being penetrated: Yes, just one more time OHHHH!
Him, stroking deeply: So tell me more about breakfast.
Me, attempting to talk around coming: There’ll be eggs.
Him, a very model of self-control: Eggs are good.
Me, finding it hard to think and orgasm: And…biscuits? And juice? And milk?
Him, slowing down, stroking less deeply: Anything else?
Me, casting about for the right answer: Bacon! We’ll have bacon!
Him, speeding up: Mmmmm tell me about this bacon.
Me: Oh baby. It’ll be salty, and smokey, and delicious…
Him, thrusting deeper: And crunchy?
Me: No baby, I know how you like it. Limp. Barely cooked.
Him: We need to stop talking about this.
Me: What, sex and bacon don’t mix?
Him: Not so much, no.

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