Paulo Macky
Rogue Adventures #34, Scene #04
Rogue Adventures #34, Scene #03
The Next She-Male Idol, Scene #02
Paulo Machy kept his face buried between her thighs, tongue working her in slow, dirty strokes. She gripped the sheets and shook. The heat between her legs had gone feral hours ago. His mouth sealed over her clit and he sucked until her hips lifted off the bed. She swore at him, begged, told him to stop teasing, and he only laughed against her wet flesh. Fingers slid inside her while his tongue kept its steady rhythm, curling, pressing, relentless. When she came the first time, it knocked the air out of her. The second one tore through her harder, leaving her legs trembling around his shoulders. He didn’t slow down. He wanted her wrecked. His free hand pinned her hip so she couldn’t twist away from the sensation, and he drank every drop she gave him. She tasted like heat and salt and the kind of mistake that felt too good to quit. He stayed there until she clawed at his hair and pulled him up, face shiny, lips swollen, voice raw. She kissed him hard, tasting herself on his tongue, and reached down to wrap her fingers around him. He was already hard, hot, and heavy against her palm. She stroked once, twice, then guided him between her legs. He pushed in without asking. One thrust and she was full. The stretch burned sweet. They moved like they had something to prove. Sweat slicked their skin. Her nails dug half-moons into his back. He fucked her deep and steady until the headboard knocked the wall. She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him closer, and met every stroke until the tension cracked again and dragged them both under.
Paulo Machy kept his face buried between her thighs, tongue working her in slow, dirty strokes. She gripped the sheets and shook. The heat between her legs had gone feral hours ago. His mouth sealed over her clit and he sucked until her hips lifted off the bed. She swore at him, begged, told him to stop teasing, and he only laughed against her wet flesh. Fingers slid inside her while his tongue kept its steady rhythm, curling, pressing, relentless. When she came the first time, it knocked the air out of her. The second one tore through her harder, leaving her legs trembling around his shoulders. He didn’t slow down. He wanted her wrecked. His free hand pinned her hip so she couldn’t twist away from the sensation, and he drank every drop she gave him. She tasted like heat and salt and the kind of mistake that felt too good to quit. He stayed there until she clawed at his hair and pulled him up, face shiny, lips swollen, voice raw. She kissed him hard, tasting herself on his tongue, and reached down to wrap her fingers around him. He was already hard, hot, and heavy against her palm. She stroked once, twice, then guided him between her legs. He pushed in without asking. One thrust and she was full. The stretch burned sweet. They moved like they had something to prove. Sweat slicked their skin. Her nails dug half-moons into his back. He fucked her deep and steady until the headboard knocked the wall. She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him closer, and met every stroke until the tension cracked again and dragged them both under.