Anal Training of Ariel Temple

Ariel works his buttons like nobody's business. Straps on the cheapest, skankiest French maid getup she owns and starts dropping glances that make meat twitch under denim. When that sweet splay of thighs climbs into his lap she grinds like she owns the sofa, ass rolling, tits bouncing, every move begging to get plowed in the other hole. She wants it nasty—wants that puckered little rim pried open until the ring is a wrecked, winking circle pumping air. Doesn’t matter how loud she ends up spraying the cushions; she’ll ride it face-down, thighs shaking, moaning she’s cumming through the back door and liking it rough.