At Last

Maitland Ward waited. She wore black lace that barely covered her, stockings gripping her thighs, the kind of lingerie meant to be taken off fast. Her dark bush pushed against the fabric, thick and full, dark curls visible through the sheer panel. Oliver Flynn walked in like he already owned the room. She dropped to her knees without a word. Her mouth found him quick, lips stretching around his cock, tongue working the underside in long strokes. She took him deep, spit running down her chin, eyes locked on his. He let her work until his hand twisted in her hair and pulled her up. He bent her over the edge of the bed. The lace stayed on. He yanked the crotch aside and drove into her from behind, doggystyle, hips slapping hard against her ass. Each thrust shoved her forward. She pushed back harder. Sweat gathered on her back. He fucked her like he meant it, like she’d been waiting years for it. When he was close he pulled out, stroking fast, and painted her face with thick ropes. Cum hit her lips, her cheek, dripped down her chin onto the black lace. She stayed still, breathing hard, eyes half-closed. 2020 scene between Maitland Ward and Oliver Flynn.