Julia Ann

My collection had nothing but girls who just hit the legal age, so I went looking for something with a little more experience. There she was—Julia Ann—sitting at the curb, legs crossed, waiting on a lift. I had maybe five minutes before her ride rolled up, so I laid it on thick. She bought the pitch, hopped in, and was already giving me those hungry side-eye looks before we even hit second gear. When we got back to my place I expected a nice body on a mature woman, not this toned, ridiculous fucking specimen. Her tits were the kind you could set a watch by—round, firm. That ass? Yeah, you actually could’ve bounced a quarter right off it. She made it clear she didn’t want any footage ending up online, which I lied through my teeth about and agreed to. Soon as the clothes hit the floor she snatched control away and started riding me like she had something to prove. Camera kept getting in the way but she kept on going. If she’d known about the box of broken promises stashed under my mattress she would’ve been gone, but instead she was too busy trying to see how far down her throat my dick would go—and it barely fit. By the time she got on top and bounced herself silly she was screaming so loud her husband probably heard it on the wind. Safe bet he’ll never feel the inside of her pussy again after that.