Whitney Westgate And Will Powers

Whitney’s got that kind of bedside manner that usually ends with someone grabbing the headboard. She leads the guy into the milking room, tells him to lose the robe, and lays him on his back like she’s about to take his temperature and his dignity at the same time. Her hands move slow, nails tracing over chest, abs, then lower, stroking until his cock’s stiff enough to salute. She drops her mouth on him, wet, patient, working him up until every vein’s throbbing and he’s shifting his hips without even meaning to. Then she has him flip. That hard dick and heavy set of balls drop through the hole in the table, and she slides underneath like she’s clocking in for overtime. One hand wraps the shaft, the other cups and tugs his balls, giving everything a firm, steady pump that keeps the blood rushing and the tension building. Her grip tightens, loosens, tightens again, and she keeps talking low, telling him she can feel how full he’s getting. The pressure keeps climbing until he can’t hold it—thick ropes paint across her tits, neck, and face, dripping down while she keeps stroking like she’s proud of the mess she made.