Gape Me While He's Gone

The front door clicks. Misha Cross is barefoot in the living room, nothing but a thin T-shirt and cotton panties. Christian Clay stands a few feet away, silent. She pulls the shirt over her head, drops it, then sinks to her knees right there on the rug. He steps forward, unzips, feeds her his cock until her throat opens around him. Spit runs down her chin. She pulls off for air, ducks lower, sucks each ball into her mouth, rolls them slowly on her tongue. He hauls her up, bends her over the back of the couch, pulls the panties aside. His tongue finds her ass, licks, then pushes inside, wet and insistent. Two fingers follow. She stays bent, breathing hard. He stands, lines up, slides into her ass in one steady push. She groans, grips the cushion. He fucks her deep, pulls out, offers the length to her mouth again. She takes him to the root, tastes herself, then turns and climbs onto him in a 69 on the floor. Her mouth works his cock; his tongue works her open hole. When he pushes two fingers back inside her, she comes shaking. He flips her onto her back, spreads her wider, slides in again. Slow strokes turn fast. Every time he pulls out she licks him clean. She begs for it harder. He gives it. Her ass grips him tight until he pulls free and paints her open hole, watching it gape, empty, wanting more.