In the dimly lit living room, Bonnie Rotten, a petite woman with blonde locks cascading down her shoulders and a smattering of tattoos adorning her body, stirs from her slumber. The night's events still lingering in her mind, she rises from the couch and makes her way to the bathroom, her small, athletic frame clad in nothing but a pair of torn jeans. As she steps into the steamy shower, the water cascades over her innie pussy and big tits, enhanced by the years, leaving a trail of droplets on the tiled floor. The scent of soap fills the air as she lathers up, her fingers tracing over her curves, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Suddenly, the stillness of the house is shattered by the sound of the bathroom door creaking open. Bonnie's heart races as she peer through the fogged-up glass, her breath hitched in her throat. A hooded figure, known only as Small Hands, stands in the doorway, a wicked grin playing on his lips. The room fills with an electric charge as Bon

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