The bed, next to a semi-obscure widow that was opened into the drafty alleyway, had seen much better days with the thick moth-eaten comforter barely masking the telltale slump in the middle of the mattress. The bathroom next to the bed reeked of stagnant water, and bore a small cracked mirror above the cracked sink as its only decor. The kitchen, located straight across from the foot of the bed housed a small refrigerator that sounded like a blender and a counter-top gas stove barely visible under the mountain of worn tin pans. The walls were cracked and eroding plaster with brown colored streaks where the rain had found a path from the wallpapered ceiling to the barren wood floor. A small table under the only bare light bulb in the entire dwelling rounded off room's meager decor. From the small sink in the bathroom, the telltale sign of a leaking faucet resounded through the thin-walled room and out to the street below in an aggravating monotone.His host brushed the pans away from. Nipples like polished black bullets. Wilma unzipped her skin tight jogging pants and peeled them to the floor, exposing her bubble butt, divided by a stark white plain thong. Removing the thong, which was one of my favourite female actions when they have to extract the string from their smelly cunt gash and standing straight, I saw her blonde! Yes blonde pubic hair which framed her gash, well I hoped it was a gash not a slit. She was as devoted to a colour stylist as Thelma. This was really going to be fun. She picked out an outfit and, leaving her one item of underwear on the bench, dressed.She entered the room smiling and excited. She was wearing a black crop top and shorts. I was excited too, but for a different reason. She began to move like all the girls move. With the same vacant stare, no life in her eyes. I turned on some music and told her to loosen up, dance or something, but make the camera her friend. As she started to move to the music, I began clicking the SLR. I told.
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