Creampie Finish

Tommy Pistol's staring at his phone, pissed off about complaints rolling in on Chloe Cherry. Time to boot her ass out. She struts in for her shift, all perky and clueless, but he stops her cold. 'Sit down, kid,' he says, voice flat. Upper management's on his case—no repeat clients for her, so yeah, she's done. Chloe's eyes go wide, begging. 'They love me! I kill at this job!' But Tommy shrugs. Decision's final, hands tied. Chloe's not quitting that easy. Smirks and hits him with it: 'How about I give you the full treatment? See why I'm gold for this place.' Tommy grins, thinking, hell, if she flops, he fires her anyway and scores a free rubdown. Deal. They head to the back, stripping down to get primed. First up: shower to scrub the grime off. 'Undress, boss,' she purrs, grabbing the soap. She's on her knees, hands slicking over his legs, kneading that firm ass like dough. 'Turn around,' she says, all business. He smirks. 'Every muscle counts, right?' Boom—message received. Her fingers wrap his cock, stroking slow and teasing. 'You do this with other clients?' Tommy asks, eyebrow cocked. 'Nah,' she admits, cheeks flushing. 'Figures,' he chuckles. 'No wonder they ghost you. Here, like this—firmer grip, twist at the top.' She catches on quick, pumping him like a pro now. She leads him to the tub, water steaming. 'Suck time,' he commands, cock throbbing. Job hanging by a thread, Chloe dives in, lips locking around him, bobbing deep and sloppy. He groans, loving the wet heat. Onto the mat he goes, her hands pouring oil everywhere, slick and shiny. She climbs on, sliding that tight pussy down his shaft. Starts riding hard, hips grinding like she's owning the rhythm. Tommy's hooked—her job's locked in, no doubt.