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Lying in my king-sized King Louis XVI-style bed sans rosettes (not an embellishment fan), I'm clearly distracted. This is my head space for design, but there's a certain brunette who's invaded my mental workshop, and it seems she's here to stay.
Closing my eyes, I allow my thoughts to drift to the slip of lace thong peeking out the top of her very low pants, her ripe young tits bursting past the opening of her top, and that damn silver tease of a dangle drawing my attention to the firm expanse of secret skin.
The bed creaks with my release.