
You're late," Mr. Jaishankar growls, his fingers digging into Tia's hips as she straddles him, her flimsy dress riding up to expose the way her ass jiggles with every thrust—not that she'd bother pulling it down, not with the way his cock's already splitting her open, his desk creaking under their weight. Her breath hitches, a broken little "N-no—" slipping out between moans, but her nails rake down his shirt anyway, clinging tighter as he yanks her forward, her tits spilling free from her low-cut neckline. "You came here begging for marks," he sneers, "so take what you fucking earned."
Her thighs tremble
















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