They say everything happens for a reason. You were walking thru the Italian fest. I was cramming a cannoli into my mouth. My sunglasses concealing my eyes as they went into high speed data collection.
In a micro second I had downloaded your image into my spank bank and began to make adjustments to the portrayal as each body part revealed more as it moved, glided and swayed. A masterpiece.
Thats what I whispered to the mirror glass nearby. You looked good as well.
As your ass came into view I kinda got excited at the prospect of having sex with it and well, I started to choke on my cannoli. At first I thought I could cough it up but it got lodged. I was okay but barely breathing.
Whatever attempt I was making to be discreet however gave way to the increasing need to take in oxygen. It's amazing what panic will do to the brain.
Thankfully your boyfriend asked if I needed assistance. He assumed (correctly I might add) that my pissing of my own pants was an exaggerated form of "Yes!" and proceeded to Heimlich maneuver half eaten pastry from my windpipe.
I'm not exactly certain as to why you were standing in front of me as I was preoccupied with maintaining consciousness. But as you might have guessed, the pastry came out, right into your face.
You were so stunned, that a piece slowly fell from your chin and onto your cleavage without you moving an inch. Even though I was heaving and coughing, I made sure to copy that image into the spank bank as well.
So, I'm here all alone now in my bean bag chair thinking of my cannoli cream exploding onto your face. Feeling rather proud and aroused I might add as I replay endlessly our destined encounter.
Your boyfriend is exceptionally strong and heroic but we both know he's not for you. We have already shared so much. I felt the bonding the moment your boyfriend offered his shirt to clean your face and you screamed "Just leave me alone".
You wanted to be with me but couldn't. Hush now. We'll be together soon.
He chased after you so I never got your name.
I'll just call you my rainbow spunk cookie, my mascarpone money shot, taster of the sweet Sicilian rod. I'm falling to pieces as I can't forget your festival filling facial.
N.
In a micro second I had downloaded your image into my spank bank and began to make adjustments to the portrayal as each body part revealed more as it moved, glided and swayed. A masterpiece.
Thats what I whispered to the mirror glass nearby. You looked good as well.
As your ass came into view I kinda got excited at the prospect of having sex with it and well, I started to choke on my cannoli. At first I thought I could cough it up but it got lodged. I was okay but barely breathing.
Whatever attempt I was making to be discreet however gave way to the increasing need to take in oxygen. It's amazing what panic will do to the brain.
Thankfully your boyfriend asked if I needed assistance. He assumed (correctly I might add) that my pissing of my own pants was an exaggerated form of "Yes!" and proceeded to Heimlich maneuver half eaten pastry from my windpipe.
I'm not exactly certain as to why you were standing in front of me as I was preoccupied with maintaining consciousness. But as you might have guessed, the pastry came out, right into your face.
You were so stunned, that a piece slowly fell from your chin and onto your cleavage without you moving an inch. Even though I was heaving and coughing, I made sure to copy that image into the spank bank as well.
So, I'm here all alone now in my bean bag chair thinking of my cannoli cream exploding onto your face. Feeling rather proud and aroused I might add as I replay endlessly our destined encounter.
Your boyfriend is exceptionally strong and heroic but we both know he's not for you. We have already shared so much. I felt the bonding the moment your boyfriend offered his shirt to clean your face and you screamed "Just leave me alone".
You wanted to be with me but couldn't. Hush now. We'll be together soon.
He chased after you so I never got your name.
I'll just call you my rainbow spunk cookie, my mascarpone money shot, taster of the sweet Sicilian rod. I'm falling to pieces as I can't forget your festival filling facial.
N.
No comments:
Post a Comment