Kate Winslet

Ah Kate Winslet.

Let me count the ways.

1.

First of all I’m going to run a nice bubble bath with the purple lavender crap herself has lying around the place.  Then I’m going to light some incest incense and some candles.  Then I’ll put the soundtrack from Titanic on, skipping that gobby cunt Dion or course.  Then I’ll sink in, grab this picture of you and thrash around the tub like Daryl Hannah in a Tom Hanks movie.  I’ll spurt so much that my formally flat ceiling will look like a stippled one from an 80’s home design show.  Then some will drip down and land on your picture, looking like I’ve bukkake’d you all the live long day.  And I totally would.

2.

Then I’d dry myself off, rinse out the bath and retire to the boudoir.  I’d find you in the boudoir, like the living wet dream you are.  You’d be there all nekkid and sitting on a chair beside a mirror.  You won’t be expecting me to walk in with 4 throbbing man inches jutting out proudly from my freshly shaven gentleman’s area, but there I’ll be.  I’ll crawl over and make little puppy whiny noises until I am on all fours right behind you.  Then without as much as a how’d you do?, I’ll be lapping at that deliciously pert crack of yours.  Mmmm, crack.

3.

Then I’d wonder why you’d be looking kind of sad and unsatisfied.  Doesn’t a good tonguing of your brown eye make you feel fulfilled?  Certainly worked for me.  Cheer up, if you’re good I’ll throw you some tea bagging later.  Where’s that smile?  Where is it?  There it is, I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for too long.  Now get dressed, bitch.  We’re going out.

4.

She knows better than to wear a bra when we go out.  This is because it just gives easier access to whatever slutty Apprentice/Big Brother wench wants to get column inches and cop a feel outside a nightclub.  Then we slip her a rohypnol and get her back to our place.  Then she’ll be rudely awoken with some smelling salts to see me trussed up like a pig on a spit roast and her wearing a strap on while Kate conducts the whole spunk symphony.  A Spunkony, if you will.

5.

*Yank.  Rip.  Tear.  Rip again.  Yank.  Rip.  Drool.  Tongue.  Suck.  Swallow.  Boing*

“Hey!  What are you doing down there?”

“I’m diving and conquering your muddy meadow.  Do you still not like that?”

“Fine, you can do it, just make sure you wank that little cock while you do”

“Ok, I’ll try!”

6.

She loves fucking on a futon, does our Kate.  She has to put some effort in though before I’ll even look at her.  The nighty is ok, she’s got no knickers on under that.  So I’ll throw those legs over the arms of the futon and gobble her gooch to within an inch of it’s life.  I’ll be dressed in a white coat and I’ll come up for air to say “Dr. Discharge, at your cervix”. This will make her giggle.  Good times.

7.

Of course it’s not all just mindless and disgusting sex acts with Kate, she has a sensitive side too.  So after a day of knitting by the fire, she’ll throw on whatever she’s knitted and ask me what I think.  I’ll be too busy chewing on those toes of hers while she laughs because she finds it ticklish.  Not as ticklish as she finds my gloopy splooge dripping between her tootsies.  Then she’ll lick them clean and put on a pair of wool socks that I knitted bought for her.  Then we’ll do anal.

8.

Then sometimes I’ll just motorboat those jubblies, get them all saliva’d up and slip my sausage in there before icing those buns with a blend of my own herbed and spiced love gravy.

I thank you.