The sun hung low in the late afternoon sky, casting long shadows across the winding country road that led toward the city. Crystal gripped the steering wheel of her small sedan, her knuckles white as the engine sputtered and coughed one final time before dying completely. She let out a frustrated groan, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. Her business meeting was in less than two hours—an important pitch for the marketing firm she worked for, the kind that could make or break her promotion.
My only goal tonight is to get soakin' wet and get paid for every single drop I make. But here's the catch if you think I can make you wet, then you better be ready to cash me out. I'm talkin' messy, sloppy, tongue-twistin', back-archin', sheets-soakin' nasty. You feel that pulse? That's me workin' you 'til you're drippin' proof. So tell me—am I makin' you wet yet? 'Cause if I am, you know the price. Pay up, or shut up and watch me drown in it.
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