brandon iron slap happy begins at 3:17 a.m. in a hotel suite. City glow through half-open blinds stripes her restless body. She can’t sleep, so brandon iron slap happy becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In brandon iron slap happy, she pushes them aside instead of removing them—impatient, perfect. Two fingers, then three, stretching, curling, until the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. When she finally comes in brandon iron slap happy, it’s with a muffled scream into the pillow, whole body shaking so hard the mattress springs sing. Dawn finds her asleep in tangled sheets, panties still twisted to the side—proof that brandon iron slap happy worked better than any sleeping pill.