She knew someone was listening. Italian beauty Sara’s legs spread wide on that couch, her black mask hiding nothing but her hunger—fingers already soaked before he even touches her. The blue bottle beside her isn’t water; it’s what she’ll spill next. She rides his face first, thighs quivering like she’s been waiting years for this moment. Then the angle changes—cock buried deep between those tits while she moans into his ear, ‘Di più…’ (Harder…) like this is just another rehearsal for something far dirtier.
