The Forbidden Fruit

Rossella Visconti tiptoes through fallen peaches, her long legs shining in the sun. One foot follows the other as she scales the ladder to reach the choicest fruit, each step oddly hypnotic. Then Max Fonda shows up, and the script flips. Rossella slides her foot along his hardening length, soft arches squeezing the base. She drops to her knees, tongue tracing the crown before sliding the whole shaft past her plump lips. He grows rock hard, so she climbs onto the grass and guides him inside, hips rolling slow and deep. When her ankles lock above his head, her painted toes circle his sack, milking every throb until he coats them with warm spurts.