Her hands reached back to his prick. Oh!’ as he lifted himself and fucked her face. A moment later, she lifted it to the top of her head…
The pink, pillbox hat… her crown. Seconds later, Johnson’s palm came down hard on the girl’s head, seeming to impale her upon him. King was shaking, sweat pooling around his collar. King pulled out and heard thick liquid drizzle onto his shoes from Jackie’s uncorked hole. Her fingers twisted on the porcelain. The dark shape worked at the former president’s dick, clumsily shifting between slow sucking and rapid head bobbing. Her flawless teeth gnashed into a grin of sheer pain. King laughed to himself and swallowed the last drops of soda from a long-necked, glass bottle. Jackie O. Her mascara ran in two, thick clownish trails down her cheeks, jaw, and neck.
