I’ve always known that being a good girl is nowhere near as profitable as being a total brat who knows how to handle a man’s needs. Using my young voice phone sex skills to lure Troy into my world was the best move I ever made, and now he’s convinced I’m the only “sugar baby” worth the investment. Today, I’ve decided to give him exactly what he’s paying for, showing up at his place in a tiny, ruffled maid outfit that barely covers my curves.
I’m not here to dust the shelves, though; I’m here for the real “dirty work”. I drop to my knees in front of him, the lace of my apron fluttering as I reach for his fly. Troy is already breathless, watching me with that hungry, desperate look I love. I don’t say a word at first, I just let my hands do the talking, sliding his pants down until those heavy, “aching balls” are right in front of my face.
I start “cleaning” them with my tongue, using slow, swirling strokes that make his knees buckle. My voice is a soft, slutty whisper, telling him how much I enjoy the taste of his skin while I buff and “polish” him with my wet mouth. He’s already rock hard, a thick vein throbbing against his stomach, but I take my time. I want him to feel every bit of my devotion before the real fun starts.
When he can’t take the teasing anymore, he grabs my waist and flips me onto the rug, pinning my legs back to reveal my “tight little pussy”, already soaking and ready for him. He dives in without a second thought, his weight crushing me into the floor as he thrust into me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive. The friction is incredible, and I’m making all those high-pitched, needy sounds that drive him over the edge.
I’m his perfect little toy, taking every inch of him until he’s growling my name and shaking with the effort of staying upright. Just as I feel my own walls clenching around him, he pulls out and starts stroking himself fast. I look up just in time to feel the heat of his load hitting my face, thick strings of “white cream” splattering across my cheeks and dripping onto my busty tits.
I stay there, panting and covered in his mess, looking like the perfect, used-up maid he dreamed of. By the time I’m cleaning myself up, he’s already heading out, leaving a thick envelope stuffed with my allowance on the nightstand. One look at that cash and I know I’m addicted to this life; I’ll be back to “clean his balls” whenever he calls.
Layla
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