Helena's Round Beautiful Ass

Helena Locke knows you're trailing her for one reason only. Your fixation on her ass got her attention, so she's letting you have a look. She turns in a black latex thong, climbs onto a leather chair, boots squeaking, and works her hips. You see the full curve of her cheeks, the way the fabric pulls tight, and the quick flash of her asshole when she tilts. Her hands pull the flesh apart. She talks—low, filthy—about the scent, the smother, the moment she’ll pin your face and let you breathe only when she feels like it. She starts to bounce harder, ass slapping the seat. She laughs, then snaps side to side until her cheeks shake. “Stroke,” she says. She pumps her hips backward, lowers until she’s inches above you, then snaps forward again. Every time she edges closer, she tells you not to come. She slides two fingers over the thong from behind, stroking slowly across the hidden ring, and asks if you want to see it bare. She still hasn’t shown you. She’s saving that for last.