Merry widow

Karola had been flying solo for a whole decade, and she was long past mourning it. She liked breathing easy and fucking dirty, simple as that. So when the suits started paying her with skin instead of money, the grin she got wasn’t polite. It was filthy. Every slick thrust reminded her she wasn’t some lonely widow anymore—she was getting railed for the high of it, her cunt stretching around men who came fast, tipped nothing, and left her leaking in hotel sheets she’d actually gotten paid to soil. No more empty nights. Just warm, greedy cock whenever she opened her legs, and Karola wasn’t about to argue.