Chief Oral Officer

Sera Ryder might run a whole team, but lately she barely has time to run her mouth around your cock. You’ve had it. The house is quiet, work is locked up for the night, and she promised she’d keep the weekend free. When you get home she’s still glued to that damn screen, so you walk over, spin the chair, and dig your thumbs into those tight shoulders. The tension melts fast. She tilts her head, eyes fluttering, lips parting like she just remembered what she’s been missing. Your palm slides down, cups one small, soft tit, thumb flicking the stiff nipple poking through her blouse. She lets out a low sound, pushes the chair back, and drops straight to her knees. Belt, zipper, pants shoved down—her mouth is on you before you’re even all the way hard, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, eager little slurps filling the room. She’s soaked. You can smell it. She stands, peels everything off in a rush, perky natural tits bouncing, that petite tattooed body on full display, then climbs aboard. She sinks down slow, breath hitching when your cock stretches her open again. Every roll of her hips is wetter, louder, needier, like she’s starving and you’re the only meal she wants.