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Unpretty

She smoothed her best dress out over the dented wooden floor and looked up at him.

“You don’t think I’m pretty, do you? You don’t like me at all.”

His face was almost quizzical.

“No. Of course not.”

A loose frond of her chocolate coloured curls had worked loose – he tucked it behind her ear gently as she reached up and unbuttoned his flies.

They were not quite alone, though no one paid them much heed in their corner of the hallway. Occasionally stepping on her heavy silk frock, there would be a muttered “Excuse me,” and she could hardly answer them with her mouth so full of him and the distraction of his weight pistoning into her.

One Comment

  1. A little sad for her.. but somehow extremely arousing! I love your posts, Hannah!

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