A second part to my made-up-word story about the rosemantic endeavours of a character called Morgan M. Morgansen.
Morgan M. Morgansen
Morgan M. Morgansen’s Date with Destiny
Capricitous califrag Morgan M. Morgansen stood in the longroom of his fourwalls, narcissising himself in the doubleglass. He horizontalized his neckbow and let a long stream of air out of his facehole. He was ready to lothariate. Or at least, ready as he’d ever be.
The eatroom was all ashadow with the tiny flames of waxsticks. Our man Morgan unstood onto a personholder and waited as the timeteller ticked and tocked on.
Tardily, the saxifragous personette swavered through the wallhole. Her headfront was polypainted with fauxface; lips cherried to the max, see-globe hairs enplussed to twin the limbs of arachnomonsters.
Morgan liplifted, twittery at the personette. He re-stood and presented her with a personholder, upon which she speedily settled her backcushions.
“Merry pre-night” tittered Morgan. “You look verily procreational”.
“Why thank you triple M. As do you. Soaped and suited, you are quite the see-treat”
Morgan pinkified as the foodbringer apparated, penguin-dressed. The gent was simply seeable as a skog – his downlooking headfront formed as if he ever had a facehole full of sour-yellows. The eatroom paidslave personpawed a duo of eatlists to Morgan and the personette, then disapparated.
The potential procreators see-globe-scanned the eatlists chatlessly. They picked their eatplates and the foodbringer reapparated, primularly enquesting Morgan on his desirated eatplate.
“For me, the body of a bunnybaby, if you please!” Morgan proclamates.
“And how would you preferate your bunnybaby, sir; black, brown or bleedy?”
“Bleedy please” Morgan worded.
He liplifted at the foodbringer and then targeted his see-globes at the personette. He was shook to see her see-globes dripping a little saltliquid.
“And for you, personette?” enquested the foodpenguin.
Blub-hiding she unquested “The herbivorous option for me.”
Morgan spitswallowed and loosed the topflaps of his chest coverer.
The foodbringer held in a snorgle-flit and worded “And for wet?”
“For liquid we will have the juice of old red grapes please. Very old” Morgan speedily shut a solo see-globe at the foodbringer. The foodpenguin boomeranged the gesture then disapparated with a smise.
After another chatless wordgap, the eats apparated. The foodpenguin citrusly unhid Morgan’s eatplate. On it unlived the corpse of a bunnybaby, its minicular rabbitears as yet unremoved, its olfactory-organ buttonish and evercute.
The personette yeuched loudly, a puddle of pre-puke ascending into her facehole as the eatready fluffpet met her see-globes.
The personette’s eats were a plateforest, a feast of foliage, a fleshless foodpile.
Morgan geishily sub-servietted the bereaved bunny and postceeded to chomp the accessorical greenery duetting it. The personette liplifted, amourated by Morgan’s sacrificious herbivorosity.
Post-bunny-boycott, the wordgaps filled fastly. The personette flirtated laviciously and tilted Morganwards, displaying her frontcushions bashlessly. Morgan was fullheart butterflated by this floricious femalian. Habberdashed and hornified he tittered as she toetangled with him sub-table.
Speedily they slurped the grape-liquid and soonly, their personpaws paired tableside, glowed by the flamey waxsticks.
Foodbags full, they monied the foodpenguin and uprighted themselves. The personette had desirated to subvide the debt but Morgan M. Morgansen swayed his topbulb pendulemically ‘no’ and that was that.
Out in the no-walls, the duet locked see-globes, topbulb-deep in procreational emotation. The personette touched her bottomlip with her topchompers and tilted Morganwards once more. Morgan pinkified, shut his see-globe covers and vicinitated his topbulb to the personette’s facehole.
An ultimated tilt Morganwords and the pair were liplocked. Morgan M. Morgansen almost lovesploded with butterflation as the floricious femalian tonguetangled with him.
Through the hardclear of the eatroom, the formerly falsituous foodpenguin lifted his citrus lips at the passion-paired persons. How could a humanian fail to be emotated by such a celebratious encoupling?
And that moon-up, when Morgan M. Morgansen horizontalised himself on his sleep platform, for once, it was not alonely.
Created: Oct 15, 2009Document Media