Emmanuelle
Peter North's Best Popshots #02
She stands there, bare except for those black thigh-highs, and she knows I'm watching. Her hands tease and spread while she looks right at me, daring me to keep staring. I get my cock out without taking my eyes off her, stroking slow at first, matching her rhythm. She spreads wider when I speed up, rubbing her clit faster, pussy glistening under the low light. Each moan slips out like she's putting on a show just for me. I'm not shy about it. I match every slick sound she makes with a wet stroke, squeezing harder when her fingers sink inside. The way her hips rock against her own hand gets me throbbing. No shame, no hesitation. Just her, open and dripping, and me, stroking thick and heavy with the same filthy purpose.
She stands there, bare except for those black thigh-highs, and she knows I'm watching. Her hands tease and spread while she looks right at me, daring me to keep staring. I get my cock out without taking my eyes off her, stroking slow at first, matching her rhythm. She spreads wider when I speed up, rubbing her clit faster, pussy glistening under the low light. Each moan slips out like she's putting on a show just for me. I'm not shy about it. I match every slick sound she makes with a wet stroke, squeezing harder when her fingers sink inside. The way her hips rock against her own hand gets me throbbing. No shame, no hesitation. Just her, open and dripping, and me, stroking thick and heavy with the same filthy purpose.