Nothing Freaky

Tommy Gunn figures a simple massage from his girl will chill him out—no freaky stuff, he says. But damn, Aimee's always got that wild spark, especially with that purple streak flashing in her hair and her robe teasing just a peek of that fine ass. She's a tall drink of trouble, towering over him with those strong hands ready to take charge. He should've known she'd flip the script. She slicks up the oil, warming it between her palms like she's plotting something hot. Starts at his ankles, working those hands up his legs, slow and firm, right to his thighs. 'Flip over,' she commands, and he's rock hard already. She dives in, tongue tracing from his balls all the way up to the tip of that throbbing cock, then swallows it whole, deep and greedy. Now it's his turn to play—Tommy's got her legs spread, sucking on that pierced clit like it's candy, while she's moaning around his dick, that 69 turning into pure fire. He loses it, exploding right in her mouth. Aimee pulls back, opens wide so you can see the load dripping out, all naughty and showy, then laps it up again, letting it slide slow down her throat. What a wicked minx.