Lonely and Waiting: Gia DiMarco

Gia DiMarco knows you're watching. Tattoos. Latex. No patience left. She clips silver clamps on her nipples, tugs until they stand out against the black sheen, then slides a clear glass dildo through her wet folds. Her fingers follow, slick and quick, spreading the scent of sex through the stale room. When she's dripping, she drops to her knees on the bed, cheeks spread, remote in hand. The motor hums to life. One switch and the thick dildo slams home, driving into her cunt like it owns it. Faster. Harder. She presses a vibrator to her swollen clit and the first gush hits the sheets. Another twist of the dial, another rush. Squirt sprays every time the shaft slams in. She rolls to her side, takes it from behind, legs shaking. Finally on her back, heels pointed at the ceiling, the machine never slows, pounding her raw until she cums so hard words stop working. She just lies there—open, wrecked, still getting fucked.