Samm inaugural

Sammantha Higgs had gotten as far as stripping most of the way down that morning, fully intent on finally getting up off her ass and taking a shower for the first time in days; the intention had been there, without a doubt. But when she'd seen her boyfriend's cute little tush sway its way out of their apartment that morning, she'd been left with an unwieldy burden throbbing between her legs that had made walking across the small space to the bathroom simply too hard a task to think to accomplish. So she'd done the only thing that made sense: she'd sat herself down on the couch in the living room, turned on the TV and her laptop, mirroring her monitor on the big flatscreen above and proceeded to browse through some porn. That'd been at around 8 in the morning...now it was 4:30 in the afternoon and Samm hadn't moved from her spot in the cushions. She was sprawled out now, half of the way toward actually lying down, one hand clasped behind her head, exposing her matted, soaked curls to the room at large, letting her reeking pit waft the sour scent of a straining body into the air as she huffed her own stink through flared nostrils. Her right leg was stretched out, heel digging into the floor, her left leg folded in on itself, pressed up against the back of the couch, her wide hips rolling languidly as she pumped her right fist up and down the monstrous length of the throbbing organ she'd been massaging for the last eight and a half hours. Before she'd sat down, she'd managed to get out of everything but a pair of form fitting, scandalously short, light blue workout booties, draping a crisp, clean white towel across her shoulders and over the twin swells of her heavy breasts. Now, though, that towel is practically yellowing with sweat stains, slid to one side and only just barely clinging to her shoulder, leaving her bountiful tits to rise and fall with her shallow panting, bare to the heated, stale air of the  small apartment while her shorts have gone dark, hugging wetly to her flexing thighs and the bulbous curve of her sack as she pumps her drooling cock into her palm, eyes glued to the screen as she watches some poor girl's ass get split wide by a seemingly neverending train of men. Samm's so wrapped up in her 'film', in fact, that she neither notices the time, nor the sound of the door opening at some point, instead simply losing herself in the blissful trance of listening to the wet squelching of her greasy shaft sliding through the tunnel of her fingers over the wails of the girl on screen. Turning her head, she does her best to nuzzle her nose into her own armpit, one eye shut as the other peeks from the corner of the socket at her 'inspiration', the incorrigible woman moaning softly to herself as she scorches her nostrils on the rank, unwashed scent of her heated form.