The hooker

Sandra roams the concrete yard in search of her client. A present for some lucky factory hand. She spots him leaning against a forklift, grease on his arms, a bulge already shaping his coveralls. Muscular, filthy, and exactly her type. She drops her purse, steps in close, and frees that thick shaft before he can say a word. Her lips close around it, wet and eager, and the sound of her sucking fills the empty loading bay. He grips her hair, thrusts deeper, fucks her throat until she’s gasping. Then he spins her around, bends her over a stack of pallets, and drives into her from behind, skin slapping against skin. He pulls out at the last second and finishes across her face, thick ropes streaking her lips and cheeks while her fingers still stroke him through the final pulses.