Glenn King's Maneaters, Scene #01

Tattooed and tanned, Bonnie Rotten slams her fists into the speed bag like she wants to punch through it. Her body aches. She needs dick, and she needs it now. She drops onto Jack Vegas' face in fluorescent spandex, thighs flexing, hips grinding, flooding his mouth in one hot gush. He can't keep up, but she doesn't care. She keeps talking filth, calling the shots, riding his tongue until she squirts again—harder this time, soaking his jaw, his chest, the mat beneath them. Jack gasps and tries to swallow. Bonnie laughs, dark and wicked. She wraps her lips around his cock, sucks like she's starving. She sticks out her feet, watches him tongue between her toes while she jerks him, toes flexing, heel digging in when he slows down. Then she climbs on and fucks like she's trying to break him open. Every thrust comes with a command. Every moan gets answered with another wave of wet heat spraying across his face. Jack licks whatever he can catch, and when she tells him to, he spits it straight back into her mouth. She swallows it with a grin, eyes locked on his, daring him to tap out first.