Author: Jackie

Jackie 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 330

I’m Jackie, and on Veteran’s Day, I like to pay my respects in a special way. Y’all know I’m a Georgia peach, all curves and sass, so I head on over to the VFW hall to show my gratitude in the most southern, honey-sweet fashion.

As I walk in, them old boys’ eyes light up like Christmas trees. I’m glad to oblige; after all, a curvy beauty like me owes it to them brave men to do my part. I saunter on over, hips swaying, and give ’em a wink and a smile. “Y’all ready for some sweet Georgia pie, fellas?” I ask, batting my lashes.

Continue reading “Veteran’s Day” →

Jackie 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 330

I guess it’s high time I share the tale of how my juicy ass earned its reputation round these parts. Folks round here say I’ve got the kind of cushion a fella needs for some serious poundin’ against my sweet pink pussy.

I remember the first time I caught our farmer boy neighbor, Jeb, eyein’ me up real good. He’d been helpin’ my daddy out in the fields since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, but there was somethin’ new in his gaze that summer. One hot July evening, after the sun dipped below the pine trees, Jeb came knockin’ on our screen door. He looked at me with them big, hungry eyes, and I knew exactly what he wanted.

“Well, what brings ya to our doorstep?” I asked, swishin’ my skirt around as I sashayed to the door.

Continue reading “A Lil’ Extra Cushion” →

Jackie 1-844-332-2639 Ext. 330

I ain’t one to gossip, but Lord have mercy, I got myself into a right ol’ pickle last night! Name’s Jackie, y’all, and I’m a cup-a-coffee-over-a-size-10 kinda gal, blessed with curves that could rival a ripe peach basket. After knockin’ back a few too many margaritas at Sue Ellen’s, I decided it was high time to mosey on home. Called up that Uber ride-share thangy, and before I knew it, I was sittin’ in the backseat of a sleek sedan, my skirt ride-high and my panties drenched with anticipation.

Now, this driver, bless his heart, was built like a Greek god – chiseled jaw, smolderin’ eyes, and arms that could snap a two-by-four in half. I ain’t proud, but when that man’s hands brushed against my thigh, I felt my lady parts throb like a honky-tonk on a Friday night. Next thing I know, we’re pullin’ over on some deserted road, the headlights castin’ shadows on his chiseled features.

Continue reading “Ain’t One To Gossip” →