

Cristal May sits in front of you—twenty-seven, blonde, Russian, blue eyes steady. Petite frame, five foot three and barely a hundred pounds. Her breasts are small, natural, with soft pink nipples that tighten under the cool air. The numbers read thirty-four twenty-four thirty-five. The curve of her hips flares into a round ass that fills her palms when she squeezes, and between her legs lies a neat little pussy, smooth and faintly flushed, the kind you lean in and taste without asking twice.

Cristal May sits in front of you—twenty-seven, blonde, Russian, blue eyes steady. Petite frame, five foot three and barely a hundred pounds. Her breasts are small, natural, with soft pink nipples that tighten under the cool air. The numbers read thirty-four twenty-four thirty-five. The curve of her hips flares into a round ass that fills her palms when she squeezes, and between her legs lies a neat little pussy, smooth and faintly flushed, the kind you lean in and taste without asking twice.