Playboy Morning Show - Episode 250

She peels the sheet off my thighs. Cool air licks my skin. Then her mouth follows. Warm. Wet. She licks a slow stripe up the underside of my cock, stops just beneath the head, and flicks once—quick, electric. I jerk. She smiles without lifting her head. Her hand wraps the base, thumb pressing hard into the vein. She takes me deeper, lips sliding down until her knuckles meet her chin, throat closing around me in a tight, wet ring. I feel her gag, feel it ripple. She swallows anyway, nose pressed to my stomach, breath hissing hot through her nose. I grab her hair, pull her off. Spit strings from her bottom lip to the swollen head. She looks up at me, eyes glassy, mouth open. Before I can speak she dives back down, sucking harder now, one hand stroking what her mouth can’t reach, the other cupping my balls, rolling them, tugging just enough to make my vision spark white. She rises on her knees, swings a leg over mine. I watch her line us up, feel the slick heat of her cunt kiss the head. She sinks. One long slide, inch after inch, until she’s seated flush, clit grinding against me. Her inner walls squeeze, flutter. She rocks forward, back, finding the angle that makes her breath catch every time. I reach up, thumb her nipple, roll it. She moans, grabs my wrist, holds it there. Her hips never stop moving—slow circles, then quick snaps, then slow again, dragging me against every slick ridge inside her. Sweat beads at her throat, rolls down between her breasts. I catch it with my tongue. She leans down, bites my lower lip, sucks it between her teeth. “Come inside me,” she whispers against my mouth. Her pussy clamps down, rhythmic, greedy. I thrust up once, twice, and spill—thick, pulsing—while she rides it out, taking everything, until the tremors fade and she collapses onto my chest, still joined, still full.