Tales of Erotic Sensuality in britt linn

britt linn 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 britt linn becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In britt linn, 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 britt linn, 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 britt linn worked better than any sleeping pill.