Fashion And Anal

Tiffany steps inside the suite still in the silk slip she wore under her last gown. The editor waits by the window, champagne open. She sits on the edge of the bed, skirt hitched up, and the fabric clings to her thighs. He pours two glasses, then sets his down untouched. His palm slides up her calf, slow. She parts her knees. He drops to them, breath warm against the cotton of her panties, then pulls them aside and runs his tongue between her folds until she’s slick and twitching. She pushes him onto his back, climbs over, takes his cock in her mouth deep and wet, saliva running down his shaft. He groans, hauls her around, flips her onto all fours. He spreads her cheeks, spits on her tight ring, presses the head of his cock against it until she opens. He sinks in slow. The stretch makes her moan into the sheets. He fucks her ass with long, measured strokes, pulls out to watch the gape, pushes back in. She reaches between her legs and rubs her clit in time with him. When she comes, her whole body jerks. He pulls free, lays her on her back, folds her legs to her chest, and slides into her ass again. Missionary now, deeper. He grips her ankles, drives harder until he spills inside her. She stays open when he eases out, breath steady, eyes half-closed.