Not Working Hard Enough

Ivy Ireland's been spreading her legs for Kris K behind Brock's back for months. She met him when she took the car in. Now she's the one getting her pipes cleaned, regular. Brock's too busy beating off in the dark to notice his own wife's gone cold. His dick's a wet noodle by the time she wants it. One day Brock gets suspicious. Skips work, circles back, and peeks through the window like some sad little voyeur. There she is, his wife, on her knees in the doorway, mouth stretched around that mechanic's fat cock. Kris is hung like a horse. Brock's pathetic little prick doesn't even compare. They barely make it to the couch before Kris has her legs spread and is pounding her raw. Brock storms in, red-faced, shaking. Ivy doesn't even flinch. She just looks up, smirks, and tells Kris to keep slamming her. Then she lays into Brock, calls his cock worthless, says this is what a real man feels like. She gives him the choice: get on his knees and watch like the cuck he is, or pack his shit. Brock stammers, but his hand finds his zipper anyway. He starts stroking while Kris wrecks his wife, and Ivy just laughs, eyes locked on him, turning him into exactly what she wants.