The Machines have a Muse: Aiden Starr

Aiden Starr rides the machines like they owe her money. Christmas lights flicker. Her tits bounce—round, tight, fake. The first toy slams in hard and fast, then faster, until her cunt blooms open in a wet, red gape and stays that way. Every thrust knocks a slick sound out of her, lips clinging, letting go, kissing steel like they mean it. She shakes, swears, and keeps coming, blonde hair stuck to her cheek, holiday tinsel still on the floor. 2013 and nothing’s changed; the motors keep whining and Aiden keeps spreading for them, hole stretched wide, dripping down the chrome.