The Cheerleader

Dr. Kat Dior sizes up cheerleader Kennedy Kressler and nails her with a groin injury diagnosis. No surgery needed—pro massage will do the trick. Kennedy's all smiles about dodging the knife, but she's scratching her head when the doc says she'll handle the rubbing herself. Kat straps on that oil bottle like a pro and hops right onto the table, her hands sliding over those firm teen thighs, kneading deep into the muscle. She peels off Kennedy's skimpy cheer uniform, baring those perky little tits and those cute polka-dot panties hugging her ass. Not one to play fair, Kat strips off her own top, unleashing her full, bouncy breasts and that toned, flat tummy—damn, she's a sight. 'Got a boyfriend?' Kat asks with a sly grin. Kennedy's been shacking up with some football jock for six months. Kat chuckles, 'Sounds like a dud, babe. At your age, why box yourself in?' Her fingers sneak around from behind, brushing that sweet young pussy, dipping in gentle probes that make Kennedy squirm. The girl pushes back at first—'Hey, that's not right!'—but Kat's got that silver tongue, whispering dirty nothings while her mouth works magic on those hard nipples, then dives south to lap at the clit like it's her favorite treat. Kennedy's fighting it, morals screaming no, but fuck, it feels too damn good to quit. If no one's the wiser, what's the harm? She caves hard, burying her face in Kat's dripping pussy, tongues tangling in a frenzy as waves of hot pleasure crash through her, exploding in a shuddering cum that leaves her wrecked and wanting more.