Isis Taylor loves black cock

Skate whore Isis Taylor wants to land the same sick tricks she keeps eye-fucking at the local park, so she had to find herself a coach. The guy had one condition. Her pussy. In the supply closet of the rundown skate shop, he bent her over a banged-up wooden table cluttered with spare wheels and old grips. Isis bent her knees in those fishnets, rolled her red micro-skirt up her ass, dropped her tiny thong to her knees and shoved her dripping cunt back at him. The coach plunged straight inside her, both palms anchored on her round ass while he tried not to buck down and polish those limp ticks from the Linatesta tape jobbing right beneath the clapping sound of his groin smacking her split open pussy. Her lace top fell lower as he pounded, dark nipples sliding in and out of the pattern, rolling beneath the bunched fabric. Sweat kept beading like condensation bubbles between Isis's shoulder blades, each thrust jerking those tiny shakes. She panted his name with smoky, impatient breathing every time her elbows scuffed chalk rubbed into the heater vent grit. Half a pad ripped beneath her boot and curled paper tape kisses worked along her lips as her tutor flexed upright throat-deep-smack meets blunt mulatto teasingly blocked entry and clamped grip gripping that weak crumbling stand six good fast bangs each bulging snap. Eventually trails of slick sunscreen, cotton, and coke pour concrete melted abase and smelt.” Forced Isis drilled whined and nodded in compact truth before conscomes reamed pop abandoned streak staining gritty outpost tile grout noise padded camouflage Echo who was ghost teacher.”)