Gemma More

Gemma More's old man has been slacking on the car payments. That makes the ride theirs fair game, and Wesley Pipes just pulled the repo slip. He's already got the winch unspooling when Gemma slides out, wearing nothing much and making offers she'd never tell her husband about. Wesley shifts his weight. Last thing he needs is to lose the gig. Gemma sees the sweat beading on his forehead and smiles. "I can give you an hour or two," she says, "if you let me ride your cock right here, right now. Car stays till next week." She drops to her knees before he answers, fishing out that heavy, veined black dick he’d been swinging behind the tow-truck door. Her mouth opens wide, tongue lapping up the slit while her lipstick smears around his thickness. She goes until drool ropes from her chin, throat bulges, chrome-polish spit coats every inch. Gemma’s husband is probably staring at spreadsheets, thinking he’s saving the day. Meanwhile his cougar wife bends over the hood of the same car, spreading her own ass-cheeks so Wesley can wedge that glistening head at a hole her man never touched. Her asshole stretches, slow, greedy. Every inch she works down pushes air out of her in short, wet gasps. Once he’s buried deep she rides him back and forth, pussy still glistening from the first round that wrecked it. His balls smack wetly with each drop of her hips. Right before the tow-truck alarm hits, Wesley grabs her waist, nuts pulsing hard enough that creamy loads back-splash against his shaft. Thick white spunk bubbles out around the stretched rim and drips down the curve of her ass onto the repo paperwork still sitting on the seat.