Who knew that hell worked in hot pink?
A night alone in a crappy motel on business, and I find the pink … thing … in a drawer. I giggle and try not to think about it.
But its size fascinates me. Who would make it hot pink? It’s such a porn-y color. Is “porny” even a word?
Curious, I touch it. It’s warmer than I expect, and softer.
My fingers linger.
Embarrassed, I toss it to the chair. Its weight brings it … erect. I stare as it wobbles gently.
Unlike my ex, it wouldn’t complain that I like to be on top.
Time to stop this foolishness and shower before bed. As I strip out of my clothes, I notice how wet I am.
It’s just a … thing. And I’m just a woman, all alone, with no boyfriend waiting for me. What could it hurt?
Naked, I mount the chair, and am moaning as its tip brushes my inner thigh. “Oh, god.” I groan as it passes my pussy lips. As I sink down on the thing, my eyes roll back. Nothing has ever felt this good. I’m glad I’m all alone. No one to complain about the noise.