Good Girl

Vivian Taylor struts onto set with the whole curvy coed thing down cold. Brickzilla catches one look at her and already it’s time to pull out the lube. He greases the works—especially that famous 42-inch derrière—and she gives it a bouncing, giggly little trot for whoever’s brave enough to watch. He keeps the warm-up going, drives a thick rubber plug in and out of her, then goes mouth-first on the buttons above until she’s slick and whimpering. When he stands, she drops to her knees. The big reveal hits: down slide his boxers, and out thuds that ever-so-familiar, forward-curved thirteen-inch memory stick. She slurps, she slobbers, she strokes him between her toes while digging a tongue deep enough to be called housekeeping, then she palms down on all fours again. A fresh lashing of lube and we’re in motion. Nearly every inch disappears—doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, spoon—until he can’t hold any longer. He pulls, paints her smile, grins into the lens. Post-credits we tail the sweaty duo into the shower, Brickzilla making sure that star-derrière still sparkles when the credits roll.