Katrina Colt's Dirty Little Secret

Katrina Colt’s tiny dress leaves almost nothing to the imagination, and she’s not wearing a single thing beneath it. One quick tug and the skirt rides up; there’s her smooth pussy and tight ass, bare under the bright lights. Another pull and the top falls open—nipples, hard and perfect, pop right out. She runs two fingers along her slit, gives herself a teasing stroke, and laughs low in her throat, “Hurry the hell up, Danny.” Right on cue, Danny Mountain kicks the door shut, yanks the whole mess of fabric over her head, and bends her over the nearest surface. He slams in, hard, and Katrina groans around a grin: game on.