Red-Blooded & Rose-Buded by Sassy Sebastian

Hola guapos, you won’t believe what I’m about to tell ya! Me, Sassy Sebastian, has just arrived back in Vienna, safe & sound after a short trip to Madrid. I did a little jetsetting over the weekend after I had to live through the biggest disappointment ever.

Remember that guy I wanted to go on a date with this weekend? We did! I tried being his Virgen Maria de Guadalupe, his immaculate Virgin Mary. I really chanelled my inner Oprah. With my hymen kinda intact, my cherry half-popped and my innocence untouched. But 30 minutes into the date I couldn’t bare the boring stories about his boring work and his boring life anymore. Did this guy even have an ounce of passion?Why was his prostate not rerouting his thick leche into his bloodstream to activate his sexual beast from within? I didn’t plan on eating a three course meal, I wanted him to penetrate my downstairs-entry instead of having entrees.

 When we finally arrived at his house, I didn’t even wait until the front door was closed, I jumped him, thinking I’d be loosening his belt and morals at the same time. Sucked a little, sucked more, hoping for that pickle to become a genetically modified super eggplant. But nothing. While I desperately tried to make this loser not completely disappoint me, he fell asleep, cause he had too much food and red wine apparently. Sorry, but thank you, NEXT. This wouldn’t have happened with my macho xxl leche-factory fucker I’d met the weekend before.

That latin stallion would’ve destroyed my rosebud right at the restaurant, on our table for two, with everybody watching. As I was reminiscing, I watched myself quickly pack a few jockstraps, travel-sized enemas, croptops and added a ziplockbag for all my doctor prescribed pills & potions. Then I hopped onto a plane to Madrid Pride, sponsored by my sugar daddy. Cause why not, I needed some red blooded sexmonster that was ready to ravage me 24/7. In this lifetime, not the next!

After arriving, of course i tried to contact my xxl top from last week – who coincidentally was also residing in Madrid over the weekend (as half of the gay world was) – but I guess he had fancier flowers to pluck that weekend. Or he probably was just looking for fresh orchids he hadn’t pollinated before. So I made sure I arrived at the massively hyped WE Party (featuring Sagi Kariv as the Main DJ… L.O.V.E.) early enough to smile my way through security, fetch my vip wristband (obvs) and get into that sweaty, muy caliente Fabrik Factory full of Greek Gods and Latin Lovers. 

Everywhere sixpacks, biceps’ like bazookas, massive legs like trees & torsos with perfect pecs to complete the picturesque puzzle. Of course the guys’ faces were marvellous and judging from the buldges in their skimpy short-short-shorts, they were proud bubblebutt-owners and hung like whorses! I threw all my classy intentions out the window and slipped into the filthiest and most sexdriven night in a long time. I can’t tell you how many casual eggplants I caressed while being a social butterfly, hopping bare from bar to bear. The amount of spit and sweat you just semi-accidentally exchanged on your way to the lavatories was crazy, since everybody was showing off their goods, almost like statues that were best to be worshipped from afar. From every corner you could sense lusting hyenas waiting for their prey, ready to devour anything that was more beautiful than them. There really were a lot of fish in the sea, so I dropped my clothes, put on my nude illusion mesh jockstrap and jumped right in until the sun rose and the shuttle bus brought us back to Madrid again.

That’s when it really turned into the wet dream I’ve had since I was 10 years old (I blossomed early, don’t judge me). Back in my hoe-tel room, I stocked up on liquor and got ready to play the Grindr game again. But this time, I was fresh meat, it were my last 24 hours and I let everybody know in my profile description. I had to turn off my notification sounds cause my phone was blowing up with messages, all those locals and visitings wanted to fill me up like their buttercunt, give me pregnancy scares, gift me with their homegrown juices. I couldn‘t say no, and agayn: why would I? Carpet fucking, diem!
I don’t even wanna know what the people at reception thought, but I guess after the first dozen guys that left my room one after the other (I wanted everybody to focus on me, and only me! Category was: Cum in & find out, casually extracting their leche with my vagina cumdata), they probably stopped counting. My room was Madrids epicenter of orgasms, an important traffic junction with people cumming in from all over the world, the main residence of the La Loca Lohan Leche Foundation (a charity of course). My prolapse and me, we brought the world together, I gotta remember applying for the Nobel Piss Prize. Thank God I had prepared enough Instastories about Madrid and its sights, so I could conveniently post them every other hour while freeing another poor soul from his heavy load.

I’m typing this at the airport, keeping it barely together. Not only mentally (couldn’t stop crying, when would I be able to play milkmaid again?) but my legs could also barely keep “it” together. Everytime I didn’t focus on my holy hoe hole, and didn’t squeeze my legs together tight enough, I was leaking luscious luxury leche. I was basically marking the visiting slut’s way from the hotel to the airport, just like Hänsel & Gretel did with their breadcums. Oh my Gaga, what a weekend!

Anyway, they’re calling my name, last call. Gosh this sexperience was everything I wanted it to be. See you on the dancefloor guys, I’ll Make Me rest G-eazy this weekend, but you never know happens. Can’t make a hoe a housewife.

Stay tuned, peasants & keep in mind:
Always Go for the Gossip!

Yours truly,
Sassy Sebastian