Last night I had the misfortune of dropping extremely hot pizza between my breasts. Straight out of the microwave and floop! practically leaped into the cleavage. It was a very big piece.

Hot cheese! It’s worse than melting plastic. Shrieking, I danced around the kitchen trying to reach down and extract the slippery blisteringly hot cheese, some of which I got and some of which proceeded to be forced down further. AHHHHH, my stomach is on fire. I pulled my shirt out of my sweat pants, hoping the offending mess would fall to the floor, some did, but some managed to get into my sweat pants also. But by now it was just annoyingly hot, not burning hot, so no naughty bits got roasted.

The cat totally freaked out and ran around the living room. I spent the rest of the evening using cold compresses on various spots and watching the Food Network,and wouldn’t you know, they had a program on pizza!
I’m into some S and M, but I don’t think I’ll ever use pizza again, mistakenly or deliberately, to get off. I might just only eat cold pizza for breakfast from now on.

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