Tripped Up

The kitchen is steaming hot. Plump, bouncy tits . Juicy  ass, up in the air. Round hips I’ve been grabbing onto three, sometimes, five times a day. There’s nary a more beautiful sight than my pregnant fiancée’s nude silhouette. Even if it’s back lit by the glow of the refrigerator bulb, and she’s shooting canned whipped cream down the back of her throat for going on three straight minutes now.

“Watch out, Bluebell, you’re gonna drown in that stuff.”