The Sexy Adventures of Valerie Song

Valerie Song: Hot Yoga Part 1

“The great part about having nuts this big is that you don’t even need a yoga ball,” said Valerie Song, bouncing on her huge, fat nutsack to illustrate. Her balls were truly massive; easily large enough to support her comfortably in a normal sitting position. They were so huge it was easy to overlook the rest of the woman attached to them, which would be a shame because she was extremely hot. She wore no pants and her sizable bust was contained only by a bright pink sports bra. Aside from her sunglasses and Forty Niners ballcap the only other clothes she wore were a pair of black hi-top sneakers.

It was odd that her name was Valerie, because she looked more like a “Heather.” You know the Heather I’m talking about: the one unattainable girl you might have known in high school or college. The one who somehow managed to merge raw, exotic sexuality with sweet, almost fattening girl-next-door charm. Valerie was Heather grown up. She was half-Korean, half-Latina with strong, handsome features softened around the edges by her Korean heritage. Full lips and long, ink-black hair tied up in a ponytail. Her athletic figure was toned and well-muscled, but still voluptuous in all the right places. No amount of gym time seemed to diminish the size of her bodacious booty or her prominent rack, which was perky in spite of easily pushing the E or even Double-E range. Top it off with a saucy attitude and a corny sense of humor and you had a seriously dangerous combination. Her massive penis and testicles were really just the cherry on top, even though at the moment that metaphor seemed to be the other way around.

“That’s nice, ma’am, but this is a crepe restaurant!” objected the waitress, gesturing around to the outdoor seating area of “Crepes to Meet Ya!”, a fashionable Creperie in downtown San Francisco.

“Well of course it is,” replied Valerie, looking over the top of her sunglasses at the row of neat little tables packed with customers enjoying a crepe brunch. “I always go out for crepes before yoga,” Valerie explained. She patted the gym bag on the ground at her side. “It gets me in the mood. The little wraps remind me of yoga mats.”

“Aren’t yoga mats square?” asked the waitress, cracking her gum and giving Valerie an impertinent look that actually came across very sexy.

“Yes,” Valerie agreed, “Which reminds me, please ask the chef to make the crepes square.”

She paused to appraise the waitress’s figure. Thick thighs, big booty. Not too much up top, but she had a nice face and dirty blonde hair. The gum cracking was a cute quirk. She felt her hyper-fruitful sperm factories crank up production another notch as a warm ripple caressed her buttcheeks. Her nametag read “Allie.”

“The crepe pan is round,” Allie pointed out.

“I’m sure the chef can manage. This is one of the highest Yelp-rated crepe restaurants in all of San Francisco, isn’t it?” Valerie asked. “I’m assuming he knows how to make basic shapes?”

“Yeah I s’pose I can ask,” Allie sighed.

“There’s a ‘big tip’ in it for you,” Valerie made hand quotes around “big tip,” and winked.

“Why did you put ‘big tip’ in quotes?” asked the waitress.

“You’ll see,” Valerie winked again.

“Okay…. So what’ll you have?” asked the waitress, eager to move the interaction along.

Valerie glanced over the menu.

“Yes... Six banana strawberry crepes with nutella and extra whipped cream, please.”

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