No real man to taste her red lips

Posted:bbwclub

Pity the poor watchmaker, wounded in the war. Nothing but numb
below his waist. Brute bulk above. What keeps him from toppling off
his chair? And those fumbly-big bear paws! Those sausage-sized
fingers! Useless lout, hunched impotently over the workbench where
once he fit the tiniest screws into the tightest holes.
Pity the poor watchmaker's wife. Her beauty beyond compare wasted
on that wrecked beast of too much brain, too little brawn. No real
man to taste her red lips, to tease the innocence of her green eyes,
to plough and plunder her plump little belly with its shy patch of
golden fur.
But look! The watchmaker's knowing thumb fondles the bevel of her
clit, winding tighter the slippery knurl, while his fingers caress
the bezel of her cunt, entering the aperture and expanding it,
working it wider and wider until, with a crystalline cry, she comes.
Pity the poor watchmaker and his wife. Like clockwork, morning,
noon, and night, day after day, year after year, for hours at a time,
time stops.

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