An afternoon with Galkina

He’d heard about Galkina long before he ever saw her. A redhead with a grip that made men swear and come back for more. The first sight didn’t disappoint: slim waist, pale skin, hair like dark copper spilling down her shoulders. When she turned and smiled, it was already settled—he wasn’t leaving until he’d taken everything she’d give. She knelt on the couch without waiting for a cue. Her mouth found him quick, wet, eager. She took him deep in one slow push, throat flexing, eyes half-lidded with something close to hunger. Spit slid down his shaft, her tongue busy at the underside. Each pull of her lips made a soft, wet sound that filled the quiet room. When she pulled away, her lips were swollen, shiny. She turned, palms flat on the cushions, back arched, ass lifted like an offering. Thommy didn’t waste time. He spread her cheeks, pressed the slick head against the tight ring, and pushed. Resistance gave way in a long, burning slide until his hips met the curve of her backside. Galkina let out a low moan, pushing back to take him deeper. He fucked her with steady rhythm, watching the way her hole stretched around him, gripping every inch. Her breath came shorter now, broken little gasps whenever he bottomed out. Sweat dampened the hair at her temples. He reached beneath her, found her clit, rubbed slow circles while he kept thrusting. Her thighs trembled. Every slap of skin echoed in the afternoon light. Close to the edge, he pulled free. She turned on cue, dropped to her knees again. Mouth open, tongue out, waiting. He stroked once, twice, and painted her face—thick ropes across her lips, one across the bridge of her nose, another catching in the red strands near her cheek. She licked what she could reach, then smiled up at him, eyes bright, skin flushed, breathing hard.