Indian Sex
There was something wrong with the intelligence serum. The cabin pressure of the plane we flew on was affecting it in me. The bimboness kept swamping over and me, covering in me...Yummy, delicious, marshmallowy delight. I giggled, my pussy clenching, eager to be filled. “Do you want to feed my pussykitty?” I asked in a bubbly voice, squeezing at his hardening cock. “It's so very hungry. And it loves Black cream so very much.” I squeezed his cock again. “And yours feels like such a hugenormous feeder.”“What?” he blinked again, his eyes locked on my breasts as they swayed. They were such big, yummy tits held in the blue, stretchy material of my dress. They were such big, perfect breasts. My super smart sciency husband made them.“Don't you want to feed my pussykitty?” I purred slowly so he could understand. I had trouble understanding people sometimes. So many words. I grabbed my skirt, sliding it up my thighs, flashing my pussy at him. It was bare of any hair because I was a bimbo. And. In the background, the loudspeaker announced that the convention would be breaking for the evening in 20 minutes. Marti decided that it was time for Mike’s convention to end right then. Reaching over onto the table, she pressed the makeshift button that rested on each display table. It sent a loud buzzer to the security check point, indicating that assistance was needed. The group looked questioningly at Marti as she stood with her hands on her hips, in silence. As the security guard approached the group, Marti stepped through the few members of the group who separated her from Mike. She calmly reached up and jerked off his convention badge. Speaking over her shoulder in the direction of the officer, Marti said, ‘This man has just been fired. Please have him escorted off the premises.’ Mike stood, looking down at the spot on his shirt pocket where his badge had hung moments before. The action had been so calmly and quietly done, it was obvious that he was having trouble grasping.
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