wife wrong hole: Tales of Dreams, Courage, and Mystery

“wife wrong hole” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “wife wrong hole” shows is her hand slipping beneath cotton panties already soaked from dreams. Lazy circles turn urgent; fabric darkens under her touch. She kicks the sheet away, knees falling open, giving “wife wrong hole” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “wife wrong hole”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “wife wrong hole” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.