I'll tell you what would happen. I'd have sex with you!
Then, I'd go home to my wife, and she'd be all like, "What were you doing?"
and I'd say, "Not having sex with a busty, blonde girl I met on line, that's for sure."
"That's a very specific response," she'd reply.
"What's that over there?" I'd say, pointing over her shoulder. Then, when she turned, I'd go for a sucker punch to the solar plexus.
She'd probably dodge and claw my face Catwoman style, and I'd go down in a heap crying. Between sobs and snot, I'd admit - in great detail - what I had done all over your tits and hopefully face.
Then she'd put her hands on her hips and sigh, and say, "How many is that? Three-hundred thousand or so?"
And I'd say, "Three-hundred thousand, one hundred and twenty-one. No, wait, twenty-two. I forgot the hand job I got from Teresa at the Safeway yesterday morning."
Then she'd smile. "I forget how good Teresa is at hand jobs."
I would look up at her and smile, and she'd smile back. I would know, in that moment, that she once again understood my proclivities and was willing to forgive me.
It's hard for her, you see, to be married to a man that everybody wants to do sex to. She's had to hear many a harrowing story about things going in and out of my butt and mouth, sometimes both. She takes it all like a champion, just the way I take the ass to mouth stuff.
So I guess what I'm saying is, I'll put a dollop in you, trollop, if you're willing to get in line.
Short Answer: I don't know how I feel about that whole dollop/trollop thing that just happened. It wasn't planned at all. It just came out. Huh, that reminds me of a story...