I wonder what he'll think of this little gem I left him...
JanieBelle stands alone in the dusty street, six shooter on each hip, listening to the wind whistling through the alley between the bank and the cathouse. A bead of sweat runs down her bare back leaving a single trail of clean skin from the nape of her neck to the crack of her ass. Swinging doors on the Wagon Wheel Saloon bang on broken hinges and a four foot tumbleweed bounces by ominously…
Dream a little dream of me.
Kisses,
JanieBelle