That Pretty Wife

She knew the deal. Her husband had no cash left to stake, so he put her up instead. Now Casca Akashova walks into the room in a tight dress that can barely contain her big tits. Manuel Ferrara sits back, cool as a killer, and watches her size him up. She plans to make the house win every hand and every inch she can take. She drops between his knees, pulls him free, and wraps her glossy lips around his thick shaft. The wet sounds fill the room while her tongue works him from root to tip, blonde hair swinging with every slow, greedy bob. Ferrara stays silent, letting her prove her point. When she stands and turns, he grabs her hips and pushes her over the table, driving into her from behind in one hard stroke. Doggy-style rhythm follows—hard, steady, no mercy. Her moans get louder with each thrust, tits bouncing free, dress bunched at her waist. He pulls out only to paint the curve of her ass with thick ropes of cum. The debt clears in the only way that matters. She wins.