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The Last Supper with a Fat Chick.

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Holy Thursday already? Holy Shit. That’s the Last Supper for you non-religious fucks. Me? I just like the word Supper. My imagination gives me a far less than holy version of it, being the dirty girl that I am. My Last Supper would be a smorgasbord of cock. Woman cannot live by bread alone!!!

I picture the long table of men. All colors and ages. They are wearing robes and I go from men to man, washing each of his cocks, sensually and thoroughly. Each one grows and swells in my hand, and I am forced to take care of his needs, my head bobbing on their meatshafts as they moan loudly. I wrap my lips around bulbous heads and stroke those balls. My own pussy is slick under my own robe, my hair wet with sweat and cum. Each load I swallow makes me even hungrier than the next.

I lie back on the table and I become the supper. I am the bread and they eat of me hungrily, finding nourishment in my huge breasts and between my fat thighs. Just when I think I can take no more, the room is filled with golden light. It is HIM and one touch sends me into orgasmic orbit. He pushes his cock against my lips and his cum is like the finest wine.

My fantasy has me soaking wet. Won’t someone help a chubby girl out and throw her a bone!!!! HAHA.

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