Aliya Brynn

Aliya Brynn earns her bad girl rep the hard way. Community service hits different when you're stuck picking freeway trash under a blazing sun, but she's got bigger things on her mind. The festival's in three days, and she's banking on sweet-talking the city worker who signs off her hours. Isiah isn't buying the act. Paperwork's paperwork, he tells her. Put in the hours. So she shows up the next shift wearing nothing but the fluorescent vest and a smirk that says fuck your rules. Isiah's eyes lock on her tits, then her smooth, shaved cunt, visible through the gap in the vest. Ten seconds later, Aliya is on her knees. His thick black cock stretches her mouth wide, sliding past her tongue until her nose presses against his stomach. Spit runs down her chin, drips onto the vest. She gags, pulls back, dives back in. When he bends her over the guardrail, her slick pussy takes every inch of that twelve-inch slab with a wet smack. He fucks her like he's paying her rent. Deep strokes, fast strokes, the kind that slap his balls against her clit and make her whimper. Her legs shake. She comes once, twice, three times, each one soaking his cock. The vest rides up her back. Sweat glistens on her skin. Every thrust drives her forward, toes barely touching the ground, and she keeps begging for more.