Isabella Rossa

Bagged my groceries and the bagger too. Paid with platinum while staring at the outline in his jeans. Smiled once, twice, and the kid followed me to the parking lot like he'd already clocked out. Nervous as hell about his job until I told him the tip was better at my place. Got home, slipped into the tiny white thing I wore for my wedding night, and let gravity do the rest. His cock looked bigger than my grocery divider, and twice as thick. I dropped to my knees, tasted every dark inch, throat tightening each time it bumped the back. He tried to act cool, but his hips twitched like he was already fucking. Couldn’t wait. Climbed on, sank down, felt his heavy balls slap my wet clit. Every inch disappeared—white pussy stretched around thick black meat until there was nothing left to take. My husband needs six strokes just to add up to twelve inches. Jack gave me twelve in one stroke, then kept giving until my voice cracked from yelling. Shift time rolled around and the kid was still rock-hard. Dripping his warm load into me while my thighs shook like it was payday. Mommy got her daily serving of black caviar, and the store’s short one bagger for the afternoon.