Sara Rue

There has long been a chick who has made my swizzle stick all sticky.  She was in an American sitcom I can’t remember the name of.  Then she turned up in the best thing to hit tele in ages, The Big Bang Theory for a couple of episodes and brought it all back.

Now she’s in new American thingy Eastwick.  Which was going to be a good thing, but then they went and cancelled it.

So I guess I’ll have to wait until she gets so desperate for a long lasting show and a career boost that she poses for Penthouse with a bottle of Crisp n’ Dry and a baseball bat.

Don’t know who it is?

The loverly, wanktastic, bonerific, ginger minged Sara Rue:

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to this hot piece of grade A meat.  Of course when I say meat, I’m not being derogatory or sexist, like some feminist minge bags would say I am.  I just mean that I want her only for the sexual gratification her cheeky form would give me.  She doesn’t become a piece of meat until she ends up in my boot, like that hooker who wouldn’t shut up screaming.  Until then, she’s safe enough.

I don’t quite know how to describe what I’d like to do to the lovely Sara.  I’d have to nom her boobies.  I’d have to nom her bum bum.  I’d have to nom her furry burger.  I’d have to nom her toes.  Fuck it, I’d nom her shite off a used condom if I had to was given the chance.

See she looks all innocent there, but that’s just to throw you off the fact that she isn’t wearing any panties under that dress.  This is because she loves the feel of a fresh breeze across her clown purse.  There’s nothing like the feel of a wisp of crisp air brushing over her freshly shaven cherry strudel, or so she tells me.  Yeah she loves the free sensation of an uncovered pair of bacon strips.  That coy look she has going on there means that if you don’t take her somewhere a little more private soon, she’s likely to wet her socks before you’ve even had a chance to bury your Trusty McSpunkchucker.

Look at that cheeky smile, what a filthy little fuck rag she is.  I don’t know what more I can say.

I know what I can say here though.  I’ll have to move that strategically placed sheet over her derriere and separate her cheeks with nothing more than my tongue.  With a round and pert cheek in each hand I’ll play her like a harmonica.  And of course while I was trying to untie her balloon knot I’d be baguetting my french stick increasing the pace just enough to make sure I was ready to toast her toes as she was gushing her way down my chin.

Then we’d cuddle, cos I’m all about the romance.