Ginger Lynn

When my car finally bit the dust, I found this stud with a grin and a tow. What I really wanted was a wrecking crew for my pretty pink snatch. I laid it on thick and yeah, he looked like he might bolt—until I peeled off my clothes and started squeezing that trouser monster. Didn’t realize fabric could hide so much dick; it kept sliding out, thick and proud. My jaw loosened, my throat relaxed, and next thing I know his heavy rod is sliding straight past my tonsils down into my guts. Didn’t plan on ass play, but my body wanted the whole show. He eased in slow, pushed past the edge, and suddenly he was balls-deep in my tight backdoor, stretching me till my eyes crossed. Heart hammering, forehead slick, pussy clenching around nothing while he pounded every hole like it owed him rent. Phone pinged—his ride was pulling up—so he painted my pretty face with ropes of thick white heat. Now I’m ruined for anything smaller and already texting for the next fix.