Jenni, che valle di lardo che hai messo su…

Such a wonderful and poetic soft bed of fleshy beauty...

Che valle di lardo… quanto latte, quante curve quanta morbidissima carne… M’immagino di mettere una mano sopra le sue coscione, su quei gnocchi bulbosi di cellulite, e palparle le carni mentre la bacio. Cercando di farle capire l’assolutezza della sua bellezza. E quando si mette a gattoni vorrei cantare odi sui suoi rotoli di benessere, sulle sue montagne, sulla sua opulenza di donna tanta, materna, soffice, abbondante, piena di meravigliosa cellulite.

(photo is (c) bighotbombshells.com)

The ultimate butt on Sicilia’s Curves

Che culona meravigliosa, che abbondanza, che curve, che prosciuttoni...

Madonna che bella culona che sei Sicilia, ma quanto sei grassa… c’hai un culo rigonfio di lardo, dei fianchi come una mucca, e delle cosce che sembrano prosciutti di quelli grossi…

Oh Sicilia, you truly have the ultimate ass. I love your the bulges on your hips, so engorged with beauty and elegance. I love the mountainous heap of your butt, its tallness and fatness, with all the surrounding abundance. And I adore your gorgeous thighs, so engulfed in the most lavish lard. Your lover, whoever he is, certainly will pay respect to your magnificent fatness and caress it and adore it like it’s due to a generous Goddess like yourself.

(Photo is (c) siciliascurves.com)

Sicilia: the magnificence of a Roman Goddess

Magnificent.

This is my idea of a Roman Goddess. Look at those incredible curves, the wideness of those hips, those bulges and opulent rolls, the lavish amount of flesh along her hips, only a Goddess can be so endowed. Only a Goddess.

With my lips I follow the curve from the side of her hips down along her tummy, and I dream of a sunny hill full of grain fields. I imagine the rich, soft earth, and those fat pillows of beauty for me to nourish from, and to mate with.

(photo is (c) siciliascurves.com)

Irresistible MsDawnP

How can anyone sane enough resist such a mischievous smile, and those bubbly curves?

(photo is (c) msdawnp.com)

Trying to be Stronger

(photo is (c) ultimatebbw.com)

It was mid afternoon. She was already in bed reading a book when I stepped into the bedroom. I took off my pants, socks and shirt and slipped under the sheets with a smile on my face. She was wearing nothing on top. She purred toward me, turning on her side, while one of her boob rolled gently on top of each other.

It was saturday, and about the perfect time for our nap. We often do this on the weekends. It’s so relaxing. I love the feeling of freedom and laziness that makes your mind wander and expand, like if it was on a cool cloud. It’s very nice.

We chatted and kissed softly, talking about what we should do for dinner, or just how nice the fresh sheets felt on our skin. Oh, sweet nothings. And well, being the football (that’s what the Americans incorrectly call soccer) fan that I am, I also told her my “anxiety” for tomorrow’s game between my dearest Italy versus Brazil. I kind of love to give her a chance to mock my craziness and laugh about it together.

At same time I was making a conscious effort not to touch her too much. My problem is that I can’t control myself. I love the feeling of her soft body on my skin so much that my first — one could say primal — instinct is to attack her like a vicious animal, and adore her for what she is: the love of my life, with big boobs and very large hips. Plus, I thought she gained some luscious weight in the last week and I had been dying to check her out for longer than a week.