Clean my cock

Tanner Mayes is new at this job. She’s supposed to be tidying the apartment, but she’s lying on the couch in a tiny black teddy, pink socks still on her feet, thumbing through some glossy magazine she found on the coffee table. She doesn’t hear the key in the lock. The businessman comes in, sees her loafing, and his voice drops low when he tells her to get on her knees. She doesn’t argue. She moves in front of him, pink cotton brushing his trousers, and works his belt open with both hands. His cock is already half-hard when she pulls it free. Tanner takes it straight into her mouth, lips stretching around the head, sucking hard and slow until he thickens fully against her tongue. She keeps the socks on while she bobs her head, one hand steadying his shaft, the other resting on his thigh. Every few strokes she pulls off to catch her breath, strings of spit connecting her bottom lip to his flushed skin. Then she shifts, hooks one pink foot behind his calf, and drags the soft sole up his shin. He watches the movement, eyes fixed on the cotton brushing his leg while her mouth works the length of him again, deeper now, nose brushing his stomach. She switches feet, slides the other socked sole along his calf in the opposite direction, keeping a slow rhythm between her mouth and her feet until his breathing turns rough. When he starts to thrust, Tanner stays low, lets him push past her tongue, lets the wet sound of her throat fill the quiet room. She never looks away, eyes dark and steady, pink socks still bright against his skin.