In a desperate bid to keep his head above water, Mason found himself in a precarious situation. His rent was due and his pockets were as empty as a preacher's sermon. He turned to his roommate, a well-off lad with a penchant for women of the Latin persuasion. The roommate offered a solution as enticing as a stripper's G-string, "Screw my old lady, get your rent paid." Mason, being the kind of guy who would sell his soul to Satan for a double bacon cheeseburger, was more than willing to oblige. The woman, a voluptuous vixen with curves like a rollercoaster, was more than just a pretty face. She was a sexual siren, a tantalizing temptress who knew how to work her magic. She lured Mason into her web of desire, her body a playground of pleasure that he was more than eager to explore. The anticipation built up like a storm, her moans a symphony that echoed through the room. When the time came, Mason unleashed his pent-up lust, his member throbbing with anticipation. He plunged into her, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time itself. The room was filled with the sweet sounds of their passion, their bodies entwined in a dance as old as time itself. The climax was as explosive as a stick of dynamite, her body convulsing in ecstasy as she squirted with pleasure. Mason, his body spent and his mind in a haze, could only marvel at the beauty of it all. He had paid his rent, but at what cost? The memory of the encounter was seared into his mind, a testament to his debauchery. But then again, who said being a slut had to be a bad thing?
