Nothing else existed. Not my husband, a long haul flight away, probably preparing breakfast for our little boy. Nor my morals, abandoned when I invite... the American stranger to my room. The only reality was the intensity with which the walls reflected the urgent clicking wet sounds of my seemingly unquenchable desire as I sank my fingers inside, then surfaced to continue massaging my aching clitoris.The holdups swished against the bed as I spread and closed my legs in response to the rampant. She had dreamed that some Hollywood agent would see her work and offer her a test. None did. She had met some interesting women and a lot of sad dolts, mostly male. The work had become a bore.She decided to go to college and dug out her cobbled-up high school transcript, that she had paid for with a blow-job, and had some copies made. She created several letters from fictitious teachers that praised her as a dutiful student and included an unglamorous headshot in each admission request form.She. More

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