wholly naked

Yellow lights sparkled in sharp points of radiance down the length of the small room, echoed by mirrors behind two small stages, the chrome rods rising like pillars to mark each platform’s edge, and half-empty glasses of expensive cheap beer. My attention fixed at once on the girl, wholly naked, not four feet away, shaking her bum in an elderly gent’s face. I walked the narrow aisle, avoiding feet and a tray-laden waitress, still mesmerized by the poetry of soft tits shaken.

Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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