Melissa Rose

Melissa Rose walked back in tonight like she owed my cock another run. Twenty years old, petite as hell, tight black dress hitting the floor before she even found her knees. She had this hungry little look—hungry and show-off, the kind that says come on, motherfucker, give me what I came for. The tease came first. Tongue on the head, slow and nasty. Eyes locked. Then her lips stretched around me, mouth opening wide for every thick inch, throat stretching when I pushed deeper. My dick looked ridiculous against her pretty face, almost swallowing her whole, but she handled it. She swallowed it down until the whole thing disappeared and her throat clenched around the base. That seal popped wet every time I backed out. Hands on her knees, mascara fanning under her eyes, lips working hard and sloppy like she wanted it coated on her chin. When she made it all the way balls-deep, I grabbed her hair and held her there, just feeling that warm tight grip of her throat spasming. She choked, caught her breath through her nose, and pushed herself further—like the harder the fight, the more she wanted it. I lost it fast and she didn’t even pull off. Strings poured over her tongue. Thick, heavy shots she caught every one. Then she stuck that tongue flat out, made sure I watched her clean the full load off her lips and keep it shining up front so the camera saw it all.