My mind is broken. The thought of Reine riding my face until she squirts every ounce of her love nectar down my throat is consuming me.
Sometimes I wish I was a gay Indonesian girl, even if that's probably a hard life, if that meant that I could choke on Reine's smelly, slimy cunny fluids.
If I was dating her like God intended and if one day I won a bet against her, I would make her grow her pubic hair for a week, just until they form a soft carpet, and forbid her from washing and touching herself for several hot summer days, so that when she finally slams me down onto her elegant floor and starts riding my face like a frenzied jockey on a racing horse, the smell of her sex would overwhelm me. Her dripping sweat, mixed with her womanly secretions and a bit of pee would form a frothy mess all over my face, to the point I would no longer know where my skin ends and Reine's warm thighs and vulva begin. She would ride my face mercilessly, until I pass out from the sheer sensory overload. But no, Reine would not care, she would keep pressing her sexy weight onto me, using my face as a human rodeo machine, until she would come hard, emptying all of her fluids down my throat. Then she would be too tired to get up, instead nestling in that warm, wet, comfy position with a contented purr and start playing videogames.
