Trinity 1-844-332-2639 ext 285

I was used in the back of the limo. He told me not to wear panties to the gala. I obeyed. All night, I played the part—smiling, sipping champagne, talking politics—while he kept one hand on my lower back and whispered what he was going to do to me. I couldn’t resist but I kept my composure. I was not going to break character.

Everyone watched us like we were royalty. No one knew how filthy I was underneath that gown. When the driver opened the back door of the limo, I slid in first. My dress rose up to my hips. He didn’t wait. He followed, shut the divider, and dragged me onto his lap like I was nothing but his toy. “I’ve been patient all night,” he growled. “Now open your mouth.” He unzipped himself. I dropped to the floor. The driver was still up front. The thrill? Insane.

He used me fast and rough, gripping my hair, face-fucking me while the city lights flickered past. Then he pulled me up, bent me over the seat, and shoved into me from behind, one hand choking me, the other pressing my face to the window. People

Used in the Back of the Limo

were right outside. I came hard. Twice. Screaming into the leather seat. And when we pulled up to the hotel, I stepped out with smeared lipstick, slick thighs, and that look in my eye that said: You have no idea what just happened.
But what wrecked me most? He didn’t even cum. To my surprise he held himself back, zipped up, and told me, “Good girls get filled later.” He made me walk through that lobby, dripping, needy, ruined under silk—and starving for more. And when we got to the elevator, he pressed me against the mirrored wall, hand sliding under my dress again. I whimpered. My legs trembled. “Think the cameras can see?” he whispered. “Smile for them.” I did. Just like his dirty little showgirl.

 

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