atop her

“Shit,” she muttered, lifting her head off the thin pillow. A dingy white sheet slipped off her bare boobs. “That fucker. He knew I was supposed to meet Karen at eight thirty.” Tracy pulled herself up and turned to sit on the edge of the small bed. She stretched, her arms reaching up until she fell back onto the bed. Twisting her waist, she remembered the night before, the hard mechanical fuck Alan had delivered only to fall asleep atop her, leaving her unsatisfied and stuck spending the night on his thin lumpy mattress. Picking herself up, she scratched her stiff pussy curls. Tracy licked a finger and smiled as she gently rubbed her excitable clit.

Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov

About Lord Malinov

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