Molly (aka Molly Matthews, Emily Marilyn) Molly and the Anvil

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Okay, so I been witnessing her at night, witnessing the gold light of her window streaming into darkness, and the shadows that crawl along the roofline. But she was the one that come on to me, all prettified in that brief lil sundress showing her titties chubby and puffy and hard, the convulse of that mouth-watering bootie leaving a trail of gash so thick, a guy gets lost in a fog, can't keep his mind where it belongs. She was the demon dressed like a whore. She might of looked like the nymph next door, but she weren't nothing but a whore. And last night, she stood slap in front of the window, elevating her slip over her head. Her fingers, those fine, delicate stems, unhooked her bra. The cords glided down slow, like a wish you been guzzling and just like that, you're falling down drunk, you're whiskey sightless with how you can observe her in your head, her cunt, her warm pussy, nipples, silhouette of the moon. She plays with her nipples, her jugs white, half-shadowed. Her figure writhes. That girl's fire in the mouth, a dual glug of milky lightening drilling like a fap strike on the back of your skull. Temptation. You got to kill it, got to put it away somewhere's so it don't get you.