Falling Hard For Stassi Rossi

Stassi Rossi jogs past Stirling Cooper on the street and he cranes his neck for a second look. Big mistake. He eats pavement. She spins around, jogs back, kneels beside him. "You didn't have to trip, you know," she says, half-smirking. "C'mon, my place is right here." Once they're inside she strips his shirt off, shoves him on the couch. Her hands start innocent – cleaning the scrape, cold washcloth – but linger, her tits brushing his chest every time she leans in. He gets hard instantly. She clocks the bulge in his shorts and just chuckles, runs her finger up his fly. "If you're this cock-hungry already, give me a taste," she says, peels those shorts down, wraps her fingers around his shaft and drags her tongue from base to tip like she's checking how thick he really is. Stirling grips the cushion while she blows him, lips loud and sloppy, spit running down his balls. She stands, peels her leggings down over a fat ass, then climbs on backward so he's staring right at those cheeks. Slides onto his dick in one greedy push, clenching around him. No teasing now. She grinds hard, popping her hips in quick, dirty circles while her pussy swallows him whole. He smacks that ass, squeezes handfuls of it, thrusts up to meet her until she’s bouncing. Stassi rides him till her thighs shake and her cunt clamps down, squirt leaking onto his balls every time she bottoms out. He finally blows with a grunt, unloading deep, her walls milking every pulse. She lifts off slowly, his cum dripping down her thigh, licks the last bead from his tip, then smirks. "Next time maybe watch where you're going."