Reaching A Consensus

Desiree Dulce fires up some porn on the flatscreen and slides her hand straight down her panties. She kneads her tits, pinches those stiff nipples, then spreads her slick folds and pushes two fingers in knuckle-deep. Her hips start pumping like she’s already riding dick. Meanwhile Seth Gamble, clipboard in hand, raps on her front door. Nothing. He hears her gasping inside, breath short, wet sounds impossible to miss. He’s paid to finish the count, so he circles the house, spots an unlocked side door, and steps right in. One look around the corner and he gets the full show: Desiree flat on the couch, knees wide, pussy glistening as she finger-fucks herself stupid. She yelps, yanks her hand out, but Seth just lifts the clipboard like it’s a badge. “Census,” he says. She stares at the bulge in his slacks, still throbbing from the show. The questions are dry as sand—age, income, pets—but her clit is still twitching. She leans back, spreads again, and tells him, “Answer the rest after you fuck me.”