Charlotte's House Boy

Charlotte Sins walks through the door, still wearing her work heels, and finds her house boy on his knees exactly where she left him. One look and he drops flat on his back across the couch. She trails the flogger over his chest, then snaps it down—sharp little stings followed by slow, teasing strokes. When his skin blooms pink, she climbs up, plants her knees on either side of his head, and sinks her full weight onto his face. His mouth disappears under her perfect ass while he breathes her in and tastes every inch of her pussy. She slides off just long enough to bend him over the arm of the couch. The wooden spatula cracks against his ass in crisp, even beats while her other hand works his cock—hard, thick, straining for more. Then she shoves him back to all fours, spreads her cheeks, and grinds against his tongue, making him lap and inhale until his nose is slick. Charlotte settles on his face a second time, facing his feet. One hand jerks him in time with the rock of her hips while her free hand pinches her nipple; she comes hard, shaking, soaking his mouth. She stands, fastens the strap-on harness, bends him again, and presses the head of her cock to his hole. Slow, deliberate thrusts turn into deep, ruthless strokes that make him grunt with every thrust. She flips him onto his back, folds his knees to his chest, and pegs him harder, the wet slap of her hips echoing. He starts begging—voice raw—pleading to come with her cock buried in his ass, but she tightens her grip on his throat and tells him whose load it is. She keeps pounding until she decides he’s earned it.