Fuck, she’s gotten hotter in the week since she gave me the lap dance of my life. Now she’s in tight-ass shorts and a sports bra, her gorgeous tits squeezed together. I just want to run my hands all over her skin, pull that spandex down, and smack her round little ass. Instead, I turn away, plant my fist on the punching bag again and again, trying to get the sting of rejection out with repetition. It doesn’t work, because the next thing I know, she’s beside me. I see her feet planted firmly on the floor. My eyes inch up her toned legs, past her thighs that straddled me. I let my eyes roll over her covered pussy and barely-covered tits, and then I land on her eyes. And I swear, even with all the gorgeous parts of her body, they have nothing on her searing beauty. On her fucking perfect sweetheart face. And she’s not smirking, not strutting. Not playing me like the fool I am. This girl is one hundred percent genuine.
What do You think about McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys?
