Juicy

Izabella drops her shorts and the room goes quiet. Her ass is round, heavy, a perfect handful that sways like jelly when she walks. She plants her knees on the bed, cheeks spread, and starts to play. First comes a thick cucumber—cool, ridged—pushed in slow until her lips grip the last inch. Then the smooth curve of a banana, followed by a fat carrot still damp from the sink. Each one disappears, drawn back slick and shining, while she rocks her hips and lets soft little moans fill the room. The produce keeps coming, one after another, until the sheets are spotted and her thighs gleam. She never hurries. Just rocks, breathes, and takes whatever fits, her big, pale ass jiggling every time she bottoms out.