Irina Pavlova
She looks like the kind of girl who studies by streetlight and colors her notes in pastels, but the second her thighs are parted above her lover's mouth, the wholesome image cracks. She grinds her slick pussy against his tongue while he pulls her down and drinks, hands digging into her ass. The school skirt stays hitched at her waist, button-up blouse half open, small breasts pushed together by her bra. She grips the back of the couch and rides his face until her legs shake, then shifts forward, takes his cock in hand, and sinks down on it. The stretch makes her gasp; she rocks her hips, working every inch deeper until she can feel him pulse inside her. They move to the couch proper. He has her on her knees now, chest pressed to the cushion, skirt still fluttering. He opens her with slow, deliberate strokes, gets her loose, then swaps to her ass—thick head pressing past the tight ring until he buries himself to the root. She whimpers and arches, taking every thrust, the slap of skin sharp and rhythmic. When he finally pulls out, he strokes hard twice and paints her parted lips, her flushed cheek, the white streaks sliding over her chin.
Irina Pavlova
She looks like the kind of girl who studies by streetlight and colors her notes in pastels, but the second her thighs are parted above her lover's mouth, the wholesome image cracks. She grinds her slick pussy against his tongue while he pulls her down and drinks, hands digging into her ass. The school skirt stays hitched at her waist, button-up blouse half open, small breasts pushed together by her bra. She grips the back of the couch and rides his face until her legs shake, then shifts forward, takes his cock in hand, and sinks down on it. The stretch makes her gasp; she rocks her hips, working every inch deeper until she can feel him pulse inside her. They move to the couch proper. He has her on her knees now, chest pressed to the cushion, skirt still fluttering. He opens her with slow, deliberate strokes, gets her loose, then swaps to her ass—thick head pressing past the tight ring until he buries himself to the root. She whimpers and arches, taking every thrust, the slap of skin sharp and rhythmic. When he finally pulls out, he strokes hard twice and paints her parted lips, her flushed cheek, the white streaks sliding over her chin.
