Blame It on the Tool

Bianca Bangs, her textbook open, feels the need to inspect something far more interesting. She glances over her shoulder at the handyman—Jack Vegas—unbuttoned shirt, belt loose, standing there like he owns the room. She slides off the chair, drops to her knees on the carpet, and wraps both hands around his heavy cock. Her eyes widen, pupils darkening as she works her grip up and down the thick shaft. Jack’s breath turns ragged. Bianca leans in, tongue flicking the salty bead at his tip, savoring it like forbidden candy. She opens wide, lips stretching around him, taking him deep until her nose brushes skin. Jack groans—raw, unfiltered—and grabs a fistful of her hair. Bianca hums around the girth, spit running down her chin, eyes locked on his with a dare flashing in them. Every slow, hungry bob of her head screams this is exactly where homework ends and trouble begins.