SexArt - Episode 9

She slides down the length of his cock in one slow, wet stroke. Nothing shy about it. Just the thick sound of her taking every inch until her ass settles against his thighs. She stays there, grinding in lazy circles, her cunt pulsing around him like she’s deciding how she wants to use him tonight. His hands find her waist—rough thumbs pressing into soft skin. She leans forward, palms flat on his chest, and starts to ride. Not fast. Not yet. Just a steady roll of her hips that drags her clit against him on every downstroke. The room fills with the wet slap of skin meeting skin and the low rasp of her breathing. He watches her tits bounce with each rise and fall. Leans up, catches one in his mouth, sucks hard enough to pull a broken moan from her throat. She answers by clenching around him, a deliberate squeeze that makes his fingers tighten on her hips. When he can’t take the tease any longer he flips them. She lands on her back with a soft gasp, legs already open. He drives back inside her in one thrust that knocks the air from her lungs. Her ankles hook behind his ass, heels digging in, urging him deeper. Harder. Sweat beads along her collarbone. He licks it away, then kisses her—open-mouthed, filthy, tongues sliding. She tastes like wine and salt and the moan she keeps swallowing back down. He fucks her through it, pace turning ragged, hips snapping sharp enough to shove her up the sheets. She comes first—tightens so suddenly around him it rips a curse from his mouth. Her whole body locks, thighs trembling, cunt pulsing in quick, greedy spasms. He keeps moving through it, fucking her right through the aftershocks until the pleasure tips over into too much. Then he pulls out, strokes himself twice, and spills hot across her stomach, thick ropes painting her skin while she watches with heavy-lidded satisfaction.