Oopsie. I didn’t expect to get so wet when the waiter leaned over me to fill those glasses. The ice cold drops tickle as they run down my alabaster skin. If only my man would give me some attention and pick me up he would find that I’m dripping at the anticipation of his touch. How long will it take for him to notice my soft existence and wipe his mouth with my yummy center? He might find it surprising how quickly he’ll forget the last thing he ate the moment he holds me in the palm of his hand and brushes me ever so slightly against his stubble. Doesn’t he know it’s all I can do to sit still while this wetness drips down and into my folds? It’s okay for him to daintily dab the corners of his mouth, so long as he eventually gets to the middle. A polite young man would do so and then place me in his lap. Good manners are important, afterall.
*** special thanks to Aaron for this submission ***