Emma Hix looks like trouble in the best way: black lace barely doing its job, fishnets crawling up her legs, boots that say she came to wreck a man and leave the wreckage pretty. She turns on the stairs, peels the lingerie away like it owes her rent, spreads both holes without a shred of bashfulness. That ass catches the light—round, smug, built for trouble. Michael Stefano walks in and she drops straight to her knees, mouth sloppy and hungry, spitting on his cock like it’s an Olympic event. She gags, comes up grinning, then climbs onto his lap and rides like rent’s overdue. Her pussy leaves wet streaks down his shaft; every bounce makes her moan like she forgot anyone else exists. He flips her, spreads her, works into her ass with the patience of a man who enjoys making women loud. His palm cracks across her cheek and the grip of her hole loosens—big, shiny gapes opening and closing like rude little waves. She spins, sucks the taste of herself off him, drool trailing from lip to tip, then offers her feet. She jerks him between arches while he growls, until he can’t hold back. He floods her tongue; she sticks it out, lets the load pool, then spits the whole mess across her tits with a laugh that says “clean-up’s your problem, handsome.”
Emma Hix looks like trouble in the best way: black lace barely doing its job, fishnets crawling up her legs, boots that say she came to wreck a man and leave the wreckage pretty. She turns on the stairs, peels the lingerie away like it owes her rent, spreads both holes without a shred of bashfulness. That ass catches the light—round, smug, built for trouble. Michael Stefano walks in and she drops straight to her knees, mouth sloppy and hungry, spitting on his cock like it’s an Olympic event. She gags, comes up grinning, then climbs onto his lap and rides like rent’s overdue. Her pussy leaves wet streaks down his shaft; every bounce makes her moan like she forgot anyone else exists. He flips her, spreads her, works into her ass with the patience of a man who enjoys making women loud. His palm cracks across her cheek and the grip of her hole loosens—big, shiny gapes opening and closing like rude little waves. She spins, sucks the taste of herself off him, drool trailing from lip to tip, then offers her feet. She jerks him between arches while he growls, until he can’t hold back. He floods her tongue; she sticks it out, lets the load pool, then spits the whole mess across her tits with a laugh that says “clean-up’s your problem, handsome.”