Next Level

Brooklyn Gray lies face down, her bare ass lit by the bedside lamp. Markus Dupree works oil into the swell of each cheek, thumbs tracing the split. She shifts her hips, lifts them a notch. He takes the cue, slides one slick thumb down the crease and circles the tight hole until the muscle gives. She exhales, low and drawn out. The finger pushes in, draws back, slides deeper. She rocks against it, greedy. After a minute he leans in and presses his tongue where his thumb had been, slow circles that turn the muscle slicker. She groans, reaches back, pulls her own cheek wider. He stands, strokes his cock once, then pushes the head against her spit-wet rim. The shaft sinks in on a single, steady drive. Brooklyn’s breath hitches. He pulls out clean and brings the shaft straight to her mouth; she licks him shiny again, sucks until her lips pop. Then she drops lower, takes his balls, rolls them on her tongue. Markus grips her hair, pushes back inside her ass. Each thrust is measured, deep, until the room fills with the soft slap of skin and the wet sound of her mouth when he offers her the shaft again. Brooklyn moans around him, cheeks hollowing, eyes glassy. The pace stays slow, deliberate, like he’s got all night to open her exactly the way she wants.