My therapy is sex

Therapy, or the kind where you end up naked and satisfied. India Summer knows exactly which one she wants. Marco barely finishes his opening line before she’s on his bench, stretching out with that wicked little smirk. She’s running the session, not him. She slides her feet along his thighs, toes curling around the shape of his cock through his pants, and it’s game over. One tug and he’s hard. Two seconds later her mouth’s on him, warm and greedy, taking him deep while her black hair brushes his stomach. Her tongue works him slow then quick, like she’s daring him to keep any professional distance. He doesn’t stand a chance. She kicks off her shoes, presses both bare soles together around his shaft, strokes him with quick little jerks while her lips stay locked on the head. He’s groaning, hips twitching, and she’s loving every second of it. She switches again, back to sucking, then back to using her feet, never giving him time to catch his breath. Two mouths, one of them wet and perfect, the other set of lips painted and teasing. When she finally straddles him it’s all three of them, her mouth still working, her pussy slick and tight, her feet back on his thighs, driving him crazy from every angle at once. Marco doesn’t even remember his own questions. He’s too busy being used, and India’s too busy proving that real therapy ends with everyone shaking and spent.