Saras iPudd

I heart you Miss Sara. It's that simple. And my mantitties heart you, too. And my junky pudd hearts you. it hearts you so much that i have named my entire wobbly 'n' gobbly self (including my mushy buttcheeks) after it: "Saras iPudd." May i be your iPudd, Miss Sara? And may i PiggyPiggyPuhleeease share a fantasy i have about you? I dream...um...dear god. I dream about being your kicktard cucktard. As your last-class monkey every day you make me gobble-gobble Reeses PiggyButter Kupps, cake, ice cream, sticks of butter and spray whipcream to fat-fat-fatten me upp and make me irrevocably fugly and completely unappealing to other women while you go out and prowl for BBC (so big your pussy makes a popping sound when he pulls out!). My dream-scene: "You dirty fucker!" you tell the BBC on top of you as your eyes roll back in your head and you beat on his chest and pussyspasm gloriously around his tree-stump cock again. After your legs stop twitching your toes come uncurled and you lay there for a full two minutes, with your arms still around him. You open your big, beautiful, mischievous eyes and look over at me all alone with my frown. Then you look up at him again with adoration and a sparkle, "Teabag him," you smile, and bite his nipple and start giggling musically as you look at me out of the corner of your eye. I look at your pussyjuice on his ballsack and feel the fear hit my chest. I love you Sara, and wish you only the BiggestBC. Love, your eensie-butteensie iPudd.