kitty hotel bascom begins at 3:17 a.m. in a hotel suite. City glow through half-open blinds stripes her restless body. She can’t sleep, so kitty hotel bascom becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In kitty hotel bascom, she pushes them aside instead of removing them—impatient, perfect. Two fingers, then three, stretching, curling, until the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. When she finally comes in kitty hotel bascom, it’s with a muffled scream into the pillow, whole body shaking so hard the mattress springs sing. Dawn finds her asleep in tangled sheets, panties still twisted to the side—proof that kitty hotel bascom worked better than any sleeping pill.