My Tattooed Man Fingers My Ass on a Kitchen Chair

She knows exactly what she's doing to you. Her ass is right there, inviting you in. He's behind her, his fingers probing, stretching her open. The tattoos on his forearms ripple as he moves. Every thrust is deliberate, drawing out her moans.

His hands grip her hips, pulling her back onto his fingers. She's bent over, her red heels digging into the chair. You can see every inch of him working her, his fingers disappearing inside. The sounds she makes are driving you crazy. Your pulse is racing, your breath catching in your throat. Your hand is moving of its own accord, stroking in time with his slow rhythm.

He's taking his time, savoring every moment. You're getting harder by the second, your ache growing more insistent. She shifts, turning to face him, her legs spread wide. His cock bobs between his legs, tempting you to reach out. You won't last much longer. The tension is building, your edge getting closer. You can feel it, sense it in every fiber of your being. He's not going to let up, not until he's taken everything from her. And you're right there with them, caught up in their heat, their desire.