May 22, 2009 15:16
Beloved Aryan God,
I do not know how much longer I can sustain without your tender hands carressing the dimpled skin of my tentacles. My gaping mouth longs to attach to your perfect thighs, beak quivering as I lap at the flesh surrounding your most sacred parts. Knees or no, I beg you, give me release! Return to my side! Let our love continue!
As I await your return, I seem to have made a friend. She is kind, gentle, with dark eyes like a deer, and a complexion that nearly rivals yours in its sheer perfection. She introduced herself to me, eyes cast aside, whether shy or afraid, I do not know. But her voice was melodic, crisp and pleasant, and she did not condemn me for my wicked, sinful state. I had truly made a friend in this Janey.
On a related note, I have chosen a name for myself. One of your pitiful little workers mentioned it casually. It is his sister's name, but I do enjoy how it is formed on the human tongue. So, I shall no longer sign my letters to you with the crude initials V.S. Instead, I shall bid thee adieu by inscribing my new name, and wait hopefully that I will soon hear your voice calling my name.
Forever Yours,
Barbara
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