Ella was pretty, very pretty. She was the kind of pretty that made men turn their heads and take notice right away, while women turned into catty, jealous bitches. She was pretty the way Hollywood starlets were pretty. She was pretty the way every girl-next-door in every movie was pretty. She was pretty in the way young college girls are pretty, and she looked sexy as hell at the moment with her lips wrapped around Harold’s cock.
And she wasn’t just sucking on him in some half-hearted way. There was emotion it. She sucked like it was the most glorious and wonderful thing she’d ever experienced. Her position changed as it suited her, moving from kneeling to on-all-fours to kneeling again. One hand was at the base of his shaft, and she sucked with an enthusiasm that impressed the hell out of anyone who might be watching—in this case, Katelyn.
Ella’s ass was high up in the air. She wore stockings and high heels, and her chest was covered with a cropped tube top. The rest of her, however, was utterly naked. Katelyn watched Harold’s hands move through the girl’s dark blonde hair, tugging and stroking and clutching. He was on his knees, leaning against the wall. The blanket beneath the pair of them was white, as were the walls around them, and Ella’s clothing was black. From an art standpoint, it was really a brilliant contrast. Realistically, though, who would ever see this and focus on the color combinations?
And she wasn’t just sucking on him in some half-hearted way. There was emotion it. She sucked like it was the most glorious and wonderful thing she’d ever experienced. Her position changed as it suited her, moving from kneeling to on-all-fours to kneeling again. One hand was at the base of his shaft, and she sucked with an enthusiasm that impressed the hell out of anyone who might be watching—in this case, Katelyn.
Ella’s ass was high up in the air. She wore stockings and high heels, and her chest was covered with a cropped tube top. The rest of her, however, was utterly naked. Katelyn watched Harold’s hands move through the girl’s dark blonde hair, tugging and stroking and clutching. He was on his knees, leaning against the wall. The blanket beneath the pair of them was white, as were the walls around them, and Ella’s clothing was black. From an art standpoint, it was really a brilliant contrast. Realistically, though, who would ever see this and focus on the color combinations?
