Adding more chains of come to the juices that her lover Channing would press into her. Mauling that titflesh.

Glazing her budding boobs.

Lubricating them with their mixed juices of love and lust and smutch.

"More," Babette said to her imagined suitor. "We can do it some more."

With her mind blazing full of savory dreams, Babette streamed cream on the bedpost where she leaned. She slimed cuntcome from her crotch to her knees. Squeezed her hiney.

Oozed out some more.

Slid down the bedpost.

Off the mattress.

To the floor.

Babette opened her eyes. Tossed off the tears with a shake of the head.

Jumped her eyes to the bedstead.

She smiled as she realized just how much joyjuice had been within her.

There on the bedpost was the evidence at hand. Cuntcome from her fantasy fun.

Running downward from the tapered bulblike finial of the post. That decoration Babette always thought looked like a fish.

Or the head of a prick.

Babette smiled. Brought a finger to her chin. She was growing wise.

Drew her finger down the length of the bedpost. Where she had rutted her hump.

Fucked the stump.

Hauled her tail.

Left a trail like a snail.

Chapter 2

Nutlike nippletips nude to the sun, Babette thought she would have a little more fun. She brought her hand up between her knees.

Slid the flat palm between.

Upward.

Gave her cunny a squeeze.

Strummed her clitbud with her thumb. Began to hum and move her rump.

Babette snapped open her eyes.

Then yanked her hand away from between her thighs. Licked the ooze from her fingers.

Wiped the residue across her tits.

Snatched the ringing poolside telephone with her mitts. Cupped the receiver to her ear and yip. Sank down on her hips.

Winced as she heard the voice.