Fisted by a jazz solo. Her knuckles spoke in tongues. Every thrust pulled memories out of me like syringes. I wept into the mattress. She smoked a cigarette with her other hand.
Fisted by a jazz solo. Her knuckles spoke in tongues. Every thrust pulled memories out of me like syringes. I wept into the mattress. She smoked a cigarette with her other hand.
Leave a Reply