Drop Your Pants

Texas Patti storms into the room. Axel’s sitting there like someone canceled Christmas. “You look like your dog ran away,” she says. She’s already on her knees before he can blink. Tight shorts ride up her thighs, tits half out of a tiny top, that thick dark hair swinging loose. She hooks her thumbs in his waistband and yanks his sweats down without ceremony. His cock flops out—half-hard, confused, twitching anyway. She grins, gives it a wet, noisy suck just to test how fast blood fills the shaft. The wet head slides past her lips and she hums like she’s tasting something decadent. Tongue laps under the ridge, then she goes deep, one hand cupping his balls, squeezing gently while the other works the slick base in time with her mouth. Axel moans, hips lifting. Patti pulls off with a filthy pop, strings of spit hanging from his cock to her tongue. “That bitch didn’t know what she was missing,” she laughs, then dives back down, lips stretching wide. Gagging once, twice, throat hugging the head each time she sinks all the way. Spit runs down his sac and drips onto the couch cushion. Her free hand slips inside her own shorts. Fingers busy, she grinds her clit while she works, moaning around every inch. The room fills with wet sucks, sharp little whimpers, the slap of her palm stroking him faster now. Axel’s knees shake. Texas Patti doesn’t miss a beat. She pulls back just long enough to say, “Yeah, that’s the look,” and sinks down again, cheeks hollowing, throat clenching, until his fingers knot in her hair and he starts to come.