Jaslin Diaz
Face Sitting School Girls #02
Monica Morales moves like a loaded gun with its safety clicked off—five foot seven of silk skin, black hair falling past her shoulders, that vampire-pale face and those headlights she never bothers to strap down. Tongue stud clicks when she talks. At twenty-three she already owns the body of a woman who’s made money off it: full tits that don’t need a bra, waist cinched by daily ab work, ass round and tight from stair sprints she does in seven-inch heels. Today she’s in nothing but yesterday’s lingerie—thong slid aside, nipples stiff from the cool air—so when the door opens she’s legs spread on the dresser, thighs glossy with her own spit and come. She rolls the tongue piercing between her teeth, spreads herself wider. “Show it to me,” she says, voice thick with smoke and morning lust. I step close. She hooks two fingers in my belt, yanks until my cock’s out and throbbing against her cheek. One swipe of that studded tongue from base to tip and she swallows me whole, throat working, spit stringing down her chin, tits bouncing every time I thrust. When she pulls off, strings of saliva still connecting her lips to the head, she looks up grinning. “Hurry up and wreck me. I’ve got bail to make by noon.”
Monica Morales moves like a loaded gun with its safety clicked off—five foot seven of silk skin, black hair falling past her shoulders, that vampire-pale face and those headlights she never bothers to strap down. Tongue stud clicks when she talks. At twenty-three she already owns the body of a woman who’s made money off it: full tits that don’t need a bra, waist cinched by daily ab work, ass round and tight from stair sprints she does in seven-inch heels. Today she’s in nothing but yesterday’s lingerie—thong slid aside, nipples stiff from the cool air—so when the door opens she’s legs spread on the dresser, thighs glossy with her own spit and come. She rolls the tongue piercing between her teeth, spreads herself wider. “Show it to me,” she says, voice thick with smoke and morning lust. I step close. She hooks two fingers in my belt, yanks until my cock’s out and throbbing against her cheek. One swipe of that studded tongue from base to tip and she swallows me whole, throat working, spit stringing down her chin, tits bouncing every time I thrust. When she pulls off, strings of saliva still connecting her lips to the head, she looks up grinning. “Hurry up and wreck me. I’ve got bail to make by noon.”