Tati Neves
Tati Neves - Justin Bieber's Brazilian Hooker 2
Tati Neves - Justin Bieber's Brazilian Hooker
Latina Fever #03
She dropped to her knees right there in the hotel bathroom, sucking Justin like she wanted that disco stick smothering her throat. His cock shoved deeper every time her hand pumped up his shaft, spit running down her chin, falling in sloppy threads onto her tits. She gagged on him, didn’t quit for a second—just widened her throat and took the whole length, veins bulging against her tongue while her lips squelched at the base. Bieber grabbed a fist of Brazilian hair and fucked her face, hitting gag after gag, making his balls slap her chin with wet, punishing rhythm. She moaned around the meat, tears streaking mascara, mascara lookin’ cheaper than designer clout, but that smile still peeked through spit. When he yanked out, strands of throat spit connected her swollen lips to his glistening head. Her voice rasped. “Tudo vai, baby,” she cooed, licking her bottom lip slow, eye-fucking his cock like she could live on a diet of dick. Justin stepped behind her, bent her waist-low over the sink, eyes locked on the mirror—watching as that cock nudged its way between thong-tan cheeks, up, angling to wet heat. He shoved inside and she cursed something filthy in Portuguese, gripping marble, panting. He hammered her, smack after smack echoing off tile, cock sliding knuckle-deep with sloppy squish. She bent her ass up, arched her back, opened wider. Their wet skin clapped. Whimpers turned to moans when he grabbed both hips and snapped inside harder, pounding that pussy, making every thrust ring like the richest fucked-up song he’ll never write. Right before he hit his edge Justin pulled, spun her face-first again. She looked up on her knees, mascara smears damn near literary under her eyes, jerked him furiously between aching tits until hot ropes splattered across her face and chest like the grandest cum-shot finale. She rubbed it in, licking what she could off her lips, beaming that after-sex grin only genuine lust and five-star cock gives.
She dropped to her knees right there in the hotel bathroom, sucking Justin like she wanted that disco stick smothering her throat. His cock shoved deeper every time her hand pumped up his shaft, spit running down her chin, falling in sloppy threads onto her tits. She gagged on him, didn’t quit for a second—just widened her throat and took the whole length, veins bulging against her tongue while her lips squelched at the base. Bieber grabbed a fist of Brazilian hair and fucked her face, hitting gag after gag, making his balls slap her chin with wet, punishing rhythm. She moaned around the meat, tears streaking mascara, mascara lookin’ cheaper than designer clout, but that smile still peeked through spit. When he yanked out, strands of throat spit connected her swollen lips to his glistening head. Her voice rasped. “Tudo vai, baby,” she cooed, licking her bottom lip slow, eye-fucking his cock like she could live on a diet of dick. Justin stepped behind her, bent her waist-low over the sink, eyes locked on the mirror—watching as that cock nudged its way between thong-tan cheeks, up, angling to wet heat. He shoved inside and she cursed something filthy in Portuguese, gripping marble, panting. He hammered her, smack after smack echoing off tile, cock sliding knuckle-deep with sloppy squish. She bent her ass up, arched her back, opened wider. Their wet skin clapped. Whimpers turned to moans when he grabbed both hips and snapped inside harder, pounding that pussy, making every thrust ring like the richest fucked-up song he’ll never write. Right before he hit his edge Justin pulled, spun her face-first again. She looked up on her knees, mascara smears damn near literary under her eyes, jerked him furiously between aching tits until hot ropes splattered across her face and chest like the grandest cum-shot finale. She rubbed it in, licking what she could off her lips, beaming that after-sex grin only genuine lust and five-star cock gives.