Hot Girl Ki Mast Chudai mp4 porn

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She was taking it full-force this time, letting the cum shoot straight ahead as it spewed from the swollen cockhead that was just inches from her face.Beside herself with delight, she groaned happily as the warm ropes pelted her face. After three creamy loads, Donna was absolutely soaked by the sticky spunk. Her shiny, blonde locks were filled with gooey white gobs, and even the carpet underneath her had become stained from all the run-off.Michael groaned deeply as he jerked the last few shots out. He rubbed the head of his cock against his mother's lips and Donna took it into her mouth, lapping at his hole to catch as much leftover cum as she could."Ohhh, fuck," he panted. "You're the best, Mom."Donna grinned at him as she let his dick fall from her mouth. She probably was the best, she reasoned. How many other mothers would grant their sons such a request? Her cum-covered face gave her a sense of pride that few other things ever had."Wipe my face with your cock, baby. Let me taste. ’ She said this with her arms and legs wrapped around me, and right before kissing me like she was trying to steal all the air from my lungs. We both knew what she meant by it. And as I tossed her onto the bed and took off what was left of my shirt, she giggled and started stripping without a word of prompting. ‘If we’re just lovers tonight…’ she said softly, ‘then I can play a bit more aggressively, can’t I?’ I blinked, shirt still around my head, as I was suddenly pinned against the wall. There was a rushing sound as my bet was yanked off and tossed across the room, then my pants being undone and unzipped. ‘You always put so much emphasis on making me cum… and then you get all stingy with your own orgasms? Hardly fair.’ I was starting to protest, but then she was gazing up at me with those gorgeous dark eyes of hers and half my cock shoved down her throat. I couldn’t help but groan and just let my shirt fall away, letting her do as she pleased. ‘You really… think I’m stingy?’ I.
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At the top of the stairs, she opened a door, glanced with a smirk at the obvious bulge in my pants, and ushered me in to her studio: a large room with high ceilings, filled with tasteful, vintage furniture and two big, soft couches,; lots of art and tapestries on the walls, hand-woven carpets on the floor, a shitload of books and an audio system that included a turntable, of all things. An enormous collection of vinyl records filled a huge shelving unit that took up nearly an entire wall. “Please, sit down,” she said. “Can I offer you something to drink?” I declined the beverage and slid into one of the couches. Jesus, it was comfortable. I felt like it was going to swallow me whole. “Well, I’m going to have a cup of tea,” she said, disappearing through a door across the room. She was back within two minutes and placed her cup on a marble-topped end table before she sat down next to me, a cushion between the two of us on the couch. She gracefully crossed her legs, brought the teacup.

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