I’m your best prose, describe this picture

M O M M Y
O M O M M Y
M O I
M M L
Y M K
Y I
E
S

Big Asian Titties.
MmmmmmMMMmmmm
Mmmm mm Mmmm, mmmmMMMM
MmmMmMmMm mmm!
Mmmmm MM? Mmmmmm....

No soul.

"Ramu & Peace!" the crowd chanted. A angry mob person picked up the trash can and throwed it, into the Sony lobby shattering the glass everywhere.

The sexbots were running amok, knocking out the front line of the mob with high kicks to the cranium whilst protecting the Sony HQ, and also one of the crowd stabs one with a sharpened lightbulb changer causing it to glitch and fizz but many more appeared.

A hologram of the CEO appears. "I'm your best MicroProse!" he shouts his audio distorted by the reverberated glass. "I warned you about the NSA!"

we dem bois finna busta nut in dat pussi kno im sayin while dem whitebois be all cucked in da corna strokein dem litle whyteboi diccs ay bruh but we finna be bustin nuts in dis bitch

There was something curious about the way she looked at me. She didn't know me or the baggage that I had behind me. She just looked at me with her head to one side and a sweet little grin on her face that made me want to lose myself in her kiss.

With a smile, she slid the tank top off her shoulders, exposing her pink bikini.

The boy with the giant tits and ugly bangs, amused, with a half-smile that opened narrowly to reveal four roundish teeth stared past me.

Her eyes were like two shining pool of coffee and steamed milk
Her lips like a pool of whipped cream lined with hills of cotton candy
Her bosom like a deep pool of flesh and milk, capped by even more cotton candy

Hotel rooms and comfortable music, and a girl who stops and starts. Beaches, pools being seen all the time, selling a life you do not have, pointing to that which crude nakedness does not show. This is how the sun rises *you*. Nonetheless, it's nothing but a grave.

"If I pulled off that bra would you die?"
She said, "It would be extremely painful."
"Those are some big tits M'lady"
She replied with a muffled, "For you."

My eyes were enraptured by the voluptuous breasts of the Asian woman that some degenerate pervert shared on my favorite literature forum.

"huh... RaMu" "Like Ramen, heh"

My hand reached down involuntarily and grasped my hardening member. I felt the tingle of erotic energy in the base of my cock as I began to massage my penis through my black (suave) denim jeans.

A quick jump up to lock the door, and down to business. Idle hands are the devils workshop, never has there been a more appropriate truism. I removed the cap of my vaseline container and smear a glob on my circumcised cock (curse you Hebrews!).

I full-screened the image and began to furiously masturbate. Those beautiful succulent globes were calling me name in, in a funny accent no less. I imagined I was in a high-class Tokyo brothel being treated to the most delectable of oriental delight, in my minds eye the yellow vixen untied her bikini top and the two mammaries plopped forward. I was getting close.

Imagining myself receiving a blumpkin from this nipponese goddess pushed me over the edge and I shot spooge all over the 3 day old pizza box I had strategically placed under my chair that morning.

>Best prose my breast pose..

Bountiful breasts, pale, full, in-your face, I pull back and admire, and plunge forth again; I want to feel their pillowy warmth on my face; the scent of sweat, and satin; a bra and some fat and my saliva on the edge of her arerola.

Voluptuous in design; continually empty in soul. The smile is envenomed with the absence of intimate meaning, therein the basis of their conscious: bereft to destitute character. Let us hope these individuals are contained through cyberspace, and may God have mercy.

I'm a poet, oh well

Japanese whore with tons of makeup.

Behold! Scion of some very unusual colony of unclassified slant-eyed folk. Monstrous and nubulous adumbrations of the pithecanthropoids and moebal; vaguely molded from some stinking viscous slime of earth's corruption, and slithering and oozing in and on the filthy streets or in and out of windows and doorways in a fashion suggestive of nothing but infesting worms or deep-sea unnamabilites.

"Is that a man?" Daisuke said. But in the end it didn't matter, because those airbrushed tits pushed against "her" bra like a pair of liberated Red Guard on a quest to seize the means of his face. OP was a faggot, and all was well in the world.

She looks plastic and impersonal, like a doll. I have no interest.

>Those beautiful succulent globes were calling me name in, in a funny accent no less.
hehe

gook ho

big titty pink and yellow ho

breddy funny

good and accurate

...

While it may be bland to point out that what was once the packaging has since become the entirety of the product, there may be a deeper betrayal at work. The content has been emptied out in its entirety but the packaging itself has been re-emptied by successive waves of de-territorialization. While it may once have been possible to praise the packaging of a product as 'well-designed,' 'attractive,' or 'eye-catching,' now even these qualities have been emptied out by the automation of the processes of producing the packaging such that the banality of the empty packaging has been transformed into a symbolic stand-in for what it was supposed to represent and now the symbolic content itself has been erased. In such a scenario can we now admit that the structure of the forms has been deleted in its entirety and that the end-point of self-recursive futility in aesthetics has arrived?

Her breasts, like great big bags of sand.

Finally! It's arrived. This wonderful little package that I will now unwrap — Oh RaMu-chan! I will slice this little corner with a pair of blue kitchen scissors that is normally used on frozen fish. Cut cut cut cut. The piece falls and pirouettes on its tumble to the floor. I must be careful when separating the plastic. I part them, two thumbs on a sharp translucent edge, from the top, as I stand God-like above her on a stool. From this angle I can see the shape of her bulbous milk-bag, her chastity saved by two little spherical pink triangles — it's those nice little touches that make the Japanese models feel almost real. Careful, Mama, you are top-heavy and prone to falling. The plastic separates and suddenly my nose is filled with the scent of a faint perfume — Eau de faux amour. My sweet RaMu-Chan smiles head-tilted in a childish, empty gaze, her two eyes rapturous as I fill them up with electromagnetic glee, and after an hour or so the infusion is done. I press a button precariously placed on her thigh — she blinks twice, and squeals in a high pitched surprise, "Onii-chan, tadaima!" Good morning, RaMu-chan. Are you ready for me? "Hai!" Excellent. Let's get you out of this bikini.

I second this.

Big tiddy, big tiddy. Two nukes not enough.

woman

almost masturbated because of this picture so PLEASE stop

tits like ballons
souless eyes staring vacantly
the wife of liberalism.

There can be no doubt tht she is an empty person devoid of depth compared to men like us, right guys? She is, after all, both women and gook (inferior)

Her head, slightly tilted to the right; her eyes, with a barely noticeable squinting; her boobs, bigger than my head. I was in love.

A young and extraordinarily attractive Asian girl stands front and center, visible from bottom-of-bosom up. Something synthetic and oversexed about her presentation though by no means bimboish. Also round headedand childlike and bigeyed in that way Asian cultures seem peculiarly fascinated with. Arms tapered inward with her bodies curves, squeezing her massive tits together in a way that isn't subtle but wants to be. Two triangles of pink cloth do an unimpressive job of containment, and from which, the triangles, a singular strap swoops up and over and all the way around her nape, perpendicular across clavicles, coming down around and putting presumably just dreadful weight on her neck. Head cocked severely, lips parted slightly, femininely, gravity prevailing over sparse bangs, she wears a sort of obviously feigned innocence which is in no way innocent, like the facially expressive version of a stage-whisper. Her bobbed hair follows her cranium's curve obediently. At top right of frame a brand logo says something meaningless and stupid. The whole scene is fluorescently showered.

underrated