Working Girl On The Rocks
You know the type of girl I am, you can tell just by looking. The exaggerated sway of my ass with each step of my “fuck me” heels. The thin piece of red fabric that barely passed for a skirt, and hugged my ass so tight as to leave nothing to the imagination. My bare belly, pale and free of blemishes, exposed for all to see and tempting the eyes to picture what lies below. A cheap, black shrug hugs the upper half of my torso. It’s fluffy, glittery, and more than a size too small for me. It can barely close and makes it hard to breathe, but does absolute wonders at accentuating and presenting my cleavage. My bright red lipstick, the excessive blush on my cheeks, and my dark and lazy mascara and …