North Pole #37

Foxy's bare ass was still dripping when Peter rolled up. Guy walked in wearing the kind of grin that says he already decided whose morning this was gonna be. He shoved his cock against her warm stomach, hard and slick, and Foxy just blinked water out of her eyes then grabbed it with both hands like it owed her rent. No time for niceities—they splashed against tile and Peter hammered that tight pussy in one long push, making wet, filthy sounds under the spray. Her cunt hugged him like ripe peaches, all juice and give, sweet enough to taste. Water hammered her back while he drilled deeper, hitting every spot that made her whimper. When his nuts finally drew up he pulled out, snapped his fist a few times, and painted her pretty face with thick, sticky ropes. She licked the corners of her mouth, eyes bright and wicked, drunk on every hot drop sliding down her chin.