Count Chocula runs his fingers down your face, slowly gliding each finger across your cheek and down to your neck.
"My, vaht a night. Perfect for sharing a balanced breakfast, is it not?"
You nod your head, his large warm hand slowly enveloping your neck. It feels like those neck pillows that you put in the microwave, but burned because you could swear they took 5 minutes to heat up but it turns out they're only supposed to be in there for like 30 seconds.
You still wanted to use it, so you put it on, but it burns your skin and it smells like burnt rice, which isn't a terrible smell, but it's like the dark version of a good smell.
Like how, when you eat a good burrito, it smells amazing, but then someone has a fart that smells kind of burritocular and it's such a foul stench you actually develop a hatred for Chipotle, even though you used to like it.
Your friends keep trying to get you to go to Chipotle, but you say you're not a fan anymore.
Your friends are always surprised . "Really!?" They exclaim. "But it's so good, are you sure?"
Yes, you're sure. You've been sure ever since that day, years ago, when you smelled that vile ass odor.
Count Chocula whips his dick out, it's massive girth beyond any you'd expect outside 373227. Even Tony couldn't compare to this slippery scepter of semen secretion before you.
He shoves his massive all man meatsickle down most of your mouth, you gasp for breath, but breathing isn't a listed ingredient of this breakfast bangfest.
You moan in delight, as count chocula grips your hair and uses your thrussy to selfishly pleasure his peen. There's nothing you can do but submit and enjoy him jackhammering his massive dick into your mouth, until you feel it pulsating in your mouth, caressing his heartbeat with your tongue.
Suddenly, his jism generator does just that, erupting his spooky-fun flavor into your mouth. As it drips down your chest, you realize he prefers his cereal with creamer.