Happy Birthday

Krissy struts in wearing next to nothing, that wicked grin saying she’s about to ruin him for anyone else. Dropping to her knees like she’s been waiting all day, she spits on his cock and lets the drool slide down every inch before swallowing him whole. She works the shaft with a sloppy, noisy rhythm—gagging, slurping, eyes tearing up—yet still staring up at him like she owns the moment. When he tries to warn her he’s close she just winks, buries her nose in his pelvis, and milks every pulsing spurt straight down her throat. After, she wipes the mess from her lips with two fingers, sucks them clean, and plants a kiss on his thigh. “Happy birthday, kid. Don’t tell your dad.”