Backstage with Debbie White

Leslie comes home late and realizes he forgot her birthday. Debbie White stands waiting in a tiny outfit that leaves little to the imagination. Shame hits him like a slap. He drops his briefcase and crosses the room to make it right. She stays still while he sinks to his knees, lips pressed to her inner thigh, his breath warm and urgent. Her fingers slide through his hair, guiding him lower. He peels the fabric aside, tongue tracing every wet fold until her legs tremble. She pulls him up, spins him against the wall, and frees his cock with quick, impatient hands. Her mouth takes him deep, tongue working the underside, spit trailing down to his balls. He groans, hips jerking. Then she climbs onto the bed, ass raised, and he thrusts in without another word. Each stroke lands hard and full, her moans sharp and filthy. He grips her hips, drives deeper, sweat slick between them. When she comes, her whole body clenches around him, pulling him over the edge. He spills inside her, breath ragged, head pressed to her spine. The mistake is paid for. For now.