Can't get enough

Missy Nicole can't sit still. She stretches one black-stockinged leg across the couch, points her toes, and smiles when she catches you looking. The sheer lace clinging to her thighs makes her skin look even softer. She rolls onto her stomach, kicks her heels in the air, and the black hair tumbles across her shoulders like ink. When the boy steps closer she rises to her knees, reaches for his belt with small, eager hands. Her mouth opens, warm and wet, sliding down until her lips press against his skin and her tongue swirls in slow, greedy circles. Every time she pulls back for air, strings of spit glisten from her chin to his shaft. Her toes curl inside the sheer stockings, flexing with each bob of her head. She switches feet, sliding one arch along his calf while her hand strokes what her mouth leaves behind. The rhythm quickens; her cheeks hollow, throat working as she swallows him deeper. She moans around the length, the sound vibrating straight through him, and her free foot traces the inside of his thigh, nails scratching lightly through nylon. She won’t stop until every drop is hers, licking her lips clean while her toes keep twitching, still wanting more.