rotten bonnie: The Ultimate Tale of Mystery and Discovery

Oil glistens on every curve in rotten bonnie, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in rotten bonnie. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in rotten bonnie. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of rotten bonnie. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only rotten bonnie could orchestrate. When she comes in rotten bonnie, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of rotten bonnie.