After Hours Machine Fucking: Lola
Aug 3, 2005
Lola finishes wiping the last sticky rings off the bar top. The lights are low. Everyone else has gone. She peels off her work shirt, the black lace underneath still warm from eight hours of sweat and spilled liquor. Her skirt stays on. She steps out of her panties, kicks them behind the register, then opens the cabinet under the back counter. The machine waits. She lines the dildo up, already slick with her own spit, and sinks down onto it. The first thrust knocks a soft sound out of her. She hits the switch. The motor kicks in, slow at first, then meaner. Each stroke hits the same spot until her legs start to shake. She reaches back, finds the plug she left on the shelf earlier, works it into her ass while the machine keeps driving. The lace of her bra scratches her nipples every time the frame jolts forward. She grips the edge of the bar and lets the rhythm take her, face pressed to the cool wood, hips rolling to meet every hard push.
After Hours Machine Fucking: Lola
Aug 3, 2005
Lola finishes wiping the last sticky rings off the bar top. The lights are low. Everyone else has gone. She peels off her work shirt, the black lace underneath still warm from eight hours of sweat and spilled liquor. Her skirt stays on. She steps out of her panties, kicks them behind the register, then opens the cabinet under the back counter. The machine waits. She lines the dildo up, already slick with her own spit, and sinks down onto it. The first thrust knocks a soft sound out of her. She hits the switch. The motor kicks in, slow at first, then meaner. Each stroke hits the same spot until her legs start to shake. She reaches back, finds the plug she left on the shelf earlier, works it into her ass while the machine keeps driving. The lace of her bra scratches her nipples every time the frame jolts forward. She grips the edge of the bar and lets the rhythm take her, face pressed to the cool wood, hips rolling to meet every hard push.
