Whistling Dixie

imagine…her tongue dripping midnight’s cum off the side of her chin like she done licked the pussy clean, listening to the cicadas scream…imagine, the dildo of flesh and bone, black Cadillac, sliiding in your ass, as you play Little Lord Fauntleroy, in garter and dress, crawling across the carpet of some motel in Baton Rouge, your mascara running like Mississippi mud…imagine…her fingers pushing in your asshole…as she bites your neck…your pussy dancing a minuet on her thigh…your nipples, pressing against her breasts, puckering like ripe berries…imagine…her fingers pressing into your flesh, as you moan into the night, holfing on tight as your labia majora whistles Dixie.