The Wolf of Antwerp

She opens the door like she already owns you, this tight little blonde in a dress that clings like it’s painted on. You try to play it cool, but she catches you staring and just smiles. Paperwork first, she says, but the second she spots that special stamp in your passport the whole script flips. Diamonds can wait, apparently. She peels the dress off right there, drops to her knees, and wraps those pouty lips around your cock like she’s been dying for it all day. Her tiny tits jiggle every time she takes you deeper, and when she finally slides you inside her she rides like she’s trying to break something. She creams hard, shaking, still moaning with you buried in her. Then she pushes you flat, climbs back on, and works your balls until she’s swallowed every drop, greedy little smile and all.