It wasn’t planned, but it’s always planned! It should always be planned…I think. But, I saw her: she was perfect. Her breasts were real; she was thick in all of the right places; and she was tender (I could sense it!). It was early morning, and she was just running to her favorite coffee shop, I think. I needed help. I called my best friend, who was still sleepy. But, once I described her…he knew. He was coming. Now, all that I needed to do was keep track of her.
She was easy to watch: her hips bouncing, almost, to the beat of this flavor-ful drum that I had in my mind. It wasn’t jiggly, but it wasn’t too firm. I thought of someone special when I saw it…I will only say that his name begins with “R.” He would have loved just watching her move. But, I was keeping an eye on her while I waited; and, this wasn’t a chore at all.
She was still sleepy-eyed and this was the best. Maybe she had stayed up late, talking to her girlfriends. Maybe she was hung-over. I really didn’t care; but, I would find out later…just because I like to know things, especially lately. Anyway, she talked to these fake blondes and this guy that was cute (but definitely a steroid-user). I liked watching them, though; it was like a few dolls that weren’t quite real (but think that they are human).
They all, of course, fanned out. They had other “important” things to do. “My chick” (and I like calling her that) was walking back to her downtown apartment. She didn’t even sense or see it: I had put a stick in front of the alleyway. I helped her up…and then pulled her in. It’s one of of those gorgeous moves during the daylight; everyone’s either too tired or busy to care. And, there she was with me. But, my chloroform worked and she slid nicely into her space behind the back of the SUV.
At home, she was so beautiful. I really have never seen someone so sweetly tied to a chair. It wasn’t her body; it was her pose. She knew, just like a deer who had been captured and knew it was going to be gutted. I had to take pictures. I am quite obsessive with photographs, really. And, threw the lens, I kept capturing the moments of her struggle…and then her calm. And, my friend had appeared, just as I knew that he would. He was there. He admired her flesh, her robust flavor (because there was a little bit of blood that had spilled underneath the rope that tied her wrists to the chair). He was happy; I could tell not from a smile, but from the glow that spread across his lips. He was hankering for her…he already imagined her in olive oil and spices. I knew that the night was just beginning. And, I had this very nice recipe for a pussy-in-an-oyster.
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