Never thought I’d be one of those “crotchety” old rabbits, grumbling about how much better everything was in “the good old days”, yet I find that’s pretty close to what I’ve become. People were nicer. Clover tasted better. Companions would tickle your brains out AND be good company (well, as good company as someone rendered brainless actually needs, at least). Meh – I’ve earned my grey whiskers and the unfair and inaccurate perceptions and generalisations that come with them, I suppose. 
So when I’m ushered into her room, and greeted (quite) properly by Ms. Jolie – a stunning, statuesque blonde with curves that defy adequate description – I know I’m going to be taken back to that time. And I’m so excited, I can barely contain myself.
Ok, ok… I’m so excited, poor Ms. Jolie can barely contain me. Better?
Finally breaking free of my paws, she leads me into the room… and, to my embarrassment, I find myself looking for something. Quick glance in the loo as we pass it. A longer examination of the sitting area as I’m led by. Then a quick peek under the bed. Finally, shamelessly rummaging through the closet, until I hear my lovely hostess say…
Ms. Jolie: “She’s not here, Sweetie.”
Rabbit: “Yet?”
Ms. Jolie: “No. She’s not coming.”
Rabbit: “But… she said….”
Ms. Jolie: “That was just playful talk, Honey… not an appointment”
Rabbit: “Oh.”
Ms. Jolie: “Are you disappointed?”
Which was pretty silly, when you think about it. I’m standing next to a bed, with a now-nekkid dream of a lady whom I haven’t seen in FAR too long… a woman who possesses the obvious and proven (1) gifts; (2) acumen; and (3) inclination to pleasure a fella unconscious… and there’s a doubt that I’m anything but thrilled?
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
In retrospect, I think that may have been her clever way of taunting me back into the moment, ‘cause I pounced on her with abandon, and for the next hour at least, we frolicked. And talked. Well, I talked mostly (and it is very rare to find a companion who can make me that comfortable). Until she got fed up with me talking. At first she… well, imagine my “pie hole” was a funnel… Ms. Jolie decided she was going to push a watermelon through the funnel. An exquisite, round, wonderfully nippled, soft-yet-firm watermelon. Which, funny enough, rather quickly brought us back to the frolicking. Nuzzly-snuggly-smoochy-laughy-tickly-SERIOUSLY tickly frolicking. And when my incessant blathering started again, I guess I graduated “funnel-melon” to “ball gag”*.
It’s tough to “make out” in a ball gag, but I think we made due.
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
Ms. Jolie is a spectacular young lady and a playmate of the highest order, and I find time spent with her always delivers happiness (and ha-penis) in abundance.
Happy thumping, all!
* Yeah, so dig this… after getting ball gagged, she tells me “you can’t tell anyone about the ball gag!” And I want to say to her “How can I tell anyone about the ball gag… when I’m BALL GAGGED?” Only I can’t. Because I’m BALL GAGGED! Mind you, when she noticed that she sent my tiny little brain into a bit of an existential "spin", she took mercy on me and let me squeeze her bum. She's SUCH a nice lady....
So when I’m ushered into her room, and greeted (quite) properly by Ms. Jolie – a stunning, statuesque blonde with curves that defy adequate description – I know I’m going to be taken back to that time. And I’m so excited, I can barely contain myself.
Ok, ok… I’m so excited, poor Ms. Jolie can barely contain me. Better?
Finally breaking free of my paws, she leads me into the room… and, to my embarrassment, I find myself looking for something. Quick glance in the loo as we pass it. A longer examination of the sitting area as I’m led by. Then a quick peek under the bed. Finally, shamelessly rummaging through the closet, until I hear my lovely hostess say…
Ms. Jolie: “She’s not here, Sweetie.”
Rabbit: “Yet?”
Ms. Jolie: “No. She’s not coming.”
Rabbit: “But… she said….”
Ms. Jolie: “That was just playful talk, Honey… not an appointment”
Rabbit: “Oh.”
Ms. Jolie: “Are you disappointed?”
Which was pretty silly, when you think about it. I’m standing next to a bed, with a now-nekkid dream of a lady whom I haven’t seen in FAR too long… a woman who possesses the obvious and proven (1) gifts; (2) acumen; and (3) inclination to pleasure a fella unconscious… and there’s a doubt that I’m anything but thrilled?
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
In retrospect, I think that may have been her clever way of taunting me back into the moment, ‘cause I pounced on her with abandon, and for the next hour at least, we frolicked. And talked. Well, I talked mostly (and it is very rare to find a companion who can make me that comfortable). Until she got fed up with me talking. At first she… well, imagine my “pie hole” was a funnel… Ms. Jolie decided she was going to push a watermelon through the funnel. An exquisite, round, wonderfully nippled, soft-yet-firm watermelon. Which, funny enough, rather quickly brought us back to the frolicking. Nuzzly-snuggly-smoochy-laughy-tickly-SERIOUSLY tickly frolicking. And when my incessant blathering started again, I guess I graduated “funnel-melon” to “ball gag”*.
It’s tough to “make out” in a ball gag, but I think we made due.
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
Ms. Jolie is a spectacular young lady and a playmate of the highest order, and I find time spent with her always delivers happiness (and ha-penis) in abundance.
Happy thumping, all!
* Yeah, so dig this… after getting ball gagged, she tells me “you can’t tell anyone about the ball gag!” And I want to say to her “How can I tell anyone about the ball gag… when I’m BALL GAGGED?” Only I can’t. Because I’m BALL GAGGED! Mind you, when she noticed that she sent my tiny little brain into a bit of an existential "spin", she took mercy on me and let me squeeze her bum. She's SUCH a nice lady....
