“A-a-and, ah, B-Brad?” wondered Alyssa in grand unconcern after a long, dreamy time. “After all those other men are done with me, how about if I send you a text to let you know what motel room I’m, ah, having lunch in…?”
Brad’s breath caught in his throat. “Y-you would?” he groaned happily.
“Oh, maybe,” she replied in a very offhand tone. “I suppose if—” Alyssa bit her lip as his middle finger plunged knuckle-deep in the plump-lipped taut slit of her gleaming bare s*x, drew back and smoothed itself all over the top of her smooth-shaven cleft, then dropped in again with a squelch to make sure he had left no bits of hair or shaving lather. “I-i-if—” Her nostrils flared. “If I happen to think of it…”
“I would be so grateful, Mistress,” he whispered, gazing longingly up into her beautifully
