Naughty Little Teen

Toby walks in with an agenda, but Cherry’s already running the table. She meets him in nothing but bare skin and a smile that says she came to trade favors. She peels his zipper down and takes hold of him, slow strokes turning greedy as her mouth slides over the head. Cherry likes the weight, the taste; she works him until her spit glistens and her cheeks hollow. When he’s rock-hard she bends over the table, hips tilted high, and he sinks in deep—short thrusts at first, then full, steady strokes that make her moan louder with each slap of skin. She rolls onto her back next, legs spread wide, ankles hooked over his shoulders. Her nails leave little half-moons on his arms while she eggs him on, greedy for every inch. Cherry keeps him moving through the long afternoon—on the couch, on the floor, bent over the armrest—using every curve she owns to keep him hard and hungry until the sun drops and they’re both spent.