If you work in an office, do you occasionally get hard-ons while you tap away at your computer? That what happened to me today. Continuous hard-ons, one after the other. And my mind would constantly drift toward the unique sensual grace that belongs to Farrah Foxx.
I just love her. I love her big, meaty thighs. I’d love to meet her just to squeeze them and show her how beautiful she is. But most of all I love her smile, which makes her curves even softer. There’s something so sensual in the way she smiles.
So I was typing away and just doing my job, then somehow an image of her quickly stormed my mind. Then it left, quickly as it came. Or so I thought. But then, slowly, I started feeling my cock getting harder, and harder, and harder. In front of me I just had my monitor, some text, and the aseptic environment of my workplace. Nothing else. Despite all this, the image of Farrah’s sweet smile was somehow vivid in my mind, and together with her abundant curves she took over me. Thank god for cubicles!
I saw Farrah covered in lace, gently hiding her gorgeous softness with the thinnest and most delicate of all garments. She is magnificent, my own Arabian Nights’ Sharāzād. I could almost feel the exquisite texture of her skin underneath the lacy stuff. She is very juicy.
Then she takes my hand and puts her on her thigh.
“Squeeze my fat thighs, sweetie. Squeeze them…”
Her legs feel like silos of pure fat. So beautiful. I saw a woman today in San Francisco with thighs like that, big fat rolls of meat, and she was wearing a miniskirt. Big, chunky craters of cellulite. No stockings. She was a business lady, elegant buttoned up shirt, and matching short skirt. With giant fat legs jiggling everywhere as she walked quickly down Montgomery Street.
How could I not think about Farrah? Plus, Farrah has even bigger ones.
“Do you like my big thighs, sweetie?”
“Oh my dear Farrah, I love them. I love how fat they are.” Next thing I know my face is buried into her hips. I love to suckle her cellulite. Kiss it and chew it between my lips. Savor it. Lick it, and suck on it. Farrah’s cellulite is the softest and I could fondle it for years.
“You like my fat, honey?”
You know, one thing I love about Farrah is that I can totally see her talk like that. Sweetly yet in a perverted way. Her eyes are pure eroticism. Her softness, the most angelic sin.
“Are you tired dear? Why don’t you lay here, between my thighs… ”
I can see myself walking next to her, hand in hand. My hand resting on her shelf booty. I wonder if she wears miniskirts when she goes out.
I’d love to run toward her as I see her walking down the street. We hug each other and we kiss. I put one hand on her buttocks and one hand on the bare flash of her thigh, lifting up her skirt. I squeeze shamelessly as I kiss her. A teenager watches us and gets a hard-on. I wonder if she’d get mad for this perverted display of affection, or hug me even tighter. I just want people to see how much I love her.
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