I’m Shannon, curvy as fuck, pale skin covered in freckles that trail down between my heavy tits and across the soft swell of my belly. Dark red hair that falls in waves to the middle of my back, green eyes…

Hey darlings, It’s Shannon here, your favorite freckled disaster with the fire-red hair and zero fucks left to give. Thirty years old, curves that don’t quit, pale skin mapped with cinnamon freckles, and green eyes that say “come ruin me”…

Hello again, darlings. Or should I say… hello, husbands who still check their notifications with shaky thumbs. I’ve always loved puzzles. Crosswords, chess, the delicious little lies people tell themselves right before they ruin everything. But nothing—nothing—compares to the slow,…

Oh, hello there, darlings. It’s me, Shannon. Thirty years old, all soft pale curves and freckles that look like they were spilled across my tits and thighs by some filthy angel who knew exactly what men like you would want…

I spot him the second I push through the bodega door—the new boy behind the counter, barely twenty-two if that, all nervous hands and downcast eyes. Dark curls falling into his face, a faint flush already creeping up his neck…