Reports from the Dead Museum: What Makes You Feel

What Makes You Feel

She waited for me with pouty lips. "Call me Serena Barbie," she whispered. "Life has so few adventures in it, I might as well make this small one of assuming the guise of a fictional plastic doll."
"I'll warrant that parts of this semblance aren't quite the same as the toy store," I smiled. I drew closer to her side and put my left hand on her shoulder. Pressing against her, I cupped her crotch with my right hand. With my left hand I brushed long dark hair away from her neck and began to kiss the nape softly. She stood quite silently, transfixed, then slowly, she reached up and unzipped the two pockets that lay directly on her breasts.
Twin pebbles strained the surface of her shirt. I gently pulled the silk out of her pants and slowly moved my hand up her belly. Circling her breasts, but not touching her nipples, I breathed softly into her ear, "this mask seems wanting." She made no reply, but swiveled her neck around and kissed me hard on the lips. I nearly fainted from the force of her blow. I felt as if a one ton strawberry had fallen on me, overpowering me with lush ripe sweetness.
She wrestled me to the floor now. In complete command, she
slowly unbuttoned my shirt. She tweaked my nipples lightly then leaned over to kiss them, alternating her affections from one to the other. After my shirt was wholly undone, she kissed me again on the lips, pulling my hair back with her hands, then wrapping her arms around my head. She gripped me tightly in this manner, then continued onwards.
Afterwards I slowly pulled the fallen clothes back from her body. She breathed huskily and made weak murmurs and twitched as I exposed her flushed breasts.
"If you give me half a chance, I'll kiss those for hours on end," I whispered softly.