God, I'm so hot! In the cold morning air, I'm positively steaming. I've only just joined the breakfast table, and already I can tell that you're eyeing me, my golden-brown skin, the dimples and curves of my naked body. I have to admit, after last night, I was more than ready to have you finish me off, but of course, like the tease you are, you didn't. You just left me to cool off so you could come back today and have your way with me once and for all.

I have to admit, I've never tried something like that before. You were.. I mean, there really are no words. The way you whipped me, so hard and fast it felt like I was going to burst right then and there, spill all over the kitchen table. It was hard, dirty, your strong arm around me as you pounded every ounce of frustration you had into my supple body. I don't think I've ever felt more scrambled up inside, heavy and light at the same time, so malleable in your arms. It was... overwhelming. Amazing.

And now you're eyeing me with that smug, self-satisfied smirk, like I'm nothing to you but another part of your complete breakfast. As much as I know that you're going to be the death of me, I can't resist. I can see the hunger in your eyes, and I know you're going to just eat me up, body and soul. And the worst part? I want it. I want you to tear me apart, to take your fill and leave me a sloppy, sticky mess. I want you to pour your sugar on me, to rain that thick, sticky syrup all over my body.

But then, that's what waffles are for, right?