Beaver Hunt #4 - Part 4

She bent over the stockroom table, her thick thighs spreading wide. That guy with the chiseled jaw buried himself balls-deep in her pussy, grunting like he'd been waiting all shift to feel her grip him. Every thrust made her round cheeks jiggle and slap against his hips, the wet smack echoing off the shelves. He grabbed a handful of soft flesh, yanking her back harder. She moaned through her teeth, fingernails scraping plastic wrap. Sweat rolled down her spine and dripped onto the floor. He pumped like he wanted to ruin her for lunch break, every stroke bottoming out until her walls fluttered around him. Between filthy little laughs and filthy little curses, the only sound left was skin on skin and the dull thump of the table legs.