Vin Deacon
MILF Strap #02, Scene #03
Her legs were already shaking before he even touched her. Diezel stood over her like a shadow, suit open at the chest, tie loose like he'd lost patience halfway through undressing. She tried to speak but her voice caught somewhere between her throat and her chest. He grabbed her wrists, not gently, and pulled her forward. Her knees hit the floor. He looked down at her with those dark, calculating eyes, the kind that already knew every sound she'd make before she made it. She opened her mouth. He didn't wait. His cock hit the back of her throat in one deep push, and she moaned around it, the vibration running straight through him. Spit ran down her chin. He didn't ease up. His hand stayed on the back of her head, fingers tight in her hair, guiding her like she was built for this. The sound of her gagging filled the quiet room. Every time she pulled back he dragged her forward again, slower, deeper, until she stopped fighting it. She clutched his thighs, nails digging in. Her mascara smeared. When she looked up at him, eyes glassy and lips swollen, he smiled once, just barely, then fucked her throat harder.
Her legs were already shaking before he even touched her. Diezel stood over her like a shadow, suit open at the chest, tie loose like he'd lost patience halfway through undressing. She tried to speak but her voice caught somewhere between her throat and her chest. He grabbed her wrists, not gently, and pulled her forward. Her knees hit the floor. He looked down at her with those dark, calculating eyes, the kind that already knew every sound she'd make before she made it. She opened her mouth. He didn't wait. His cock hit the back of her throat in one deep push, and she moaned around it, the vibration running straight through him. Spit ran down her chin. He didn't ease up. His hand stayed on the back of her head, fingers tight in her hair, guiding her like she was built for this. The sound of her gagging filled the quiet room. Every time she pulled back he dragged her forward again, slower, deeper, until she stopped fighting it. She clutched his thighs, nails digging in. Her mascara smeared. When she looked up at him, eyes glassy and lips swollen, he smiled once, just barely, then fucked her throat harder.