Mom Professor Whore
Copyright© 2026 by SindeeM
Chapter 6: Elizabeth the Pimp, Patti Gets Deflowered
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 6: Elizabeth the Pimp, Patti Gets Deflowered - This is continuing story of a woman who is Dean of Ethics and Professor at a University, a mother of two that is blackmailed into becoming a high priced whore. There is heavy sex, non-consensual, humiliation. Later on lesbian, interracial, double penetration, gangbang
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Blackmail Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction BDSM MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Spanking Interracial Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Facial Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Prostitution
Dominic watched Elizabeth as she walked into his office. She came directly from campus. The woman who entered was Dr. Elizabeth Collins, dean of Ethics and Philosophy. She had on her academic uniform of a conservative tailored blouse and skirt.
His assistant, Sofia Romano, sat against the wall, absorbed in her tablet, offering no greeting, no acknowledgment of Elizabeth’s presence. She was just another piece of furniture in Dominic’s world.
Dominic felt a glow inside himself. He knew she had a lecture she was giving at one of her non-profits where she was a board member. She was going to lecture the do-gooders about personal responsibility and moral courage. The hypocrisy was a fucking delicacy, and he was about to feast.
As Elizabeth approached his desk, she caught the predatory gleam in his eyes. What the hell was he up to this time? She looked at Sofia. “Hello, Sofia.”
Sofia’s head lifted; a single, bored nod was her only reply before her eyes dropped back to the glowing screen.
Dominic, ever the picture of old-world charm, rose from his leather chair. He rounded the desk and pulled out the seat opposite his own, a gesture of mock gallantry. “Vesper,” he purred, the name a key turning in a lock. “So good to see you again.”
Elizabeth’s spine went rigid. She shot him a glare as she saw the evil grin on his face. What was he up to now, she wondered?
Inside her skull, the war erupted.
Elizabeth recoiled, wanting to vomit. She thought of all the disgusting, morally degrading things he had already made her do, all to protect her family and professional life.
She saw him for what he was: a predator in a tailored suit, a gangster who defined success by corrupting anything pure and decent. He was a walking, talking moral sewer, and every word he spoke was a way to drag her down into his filth.
He didn’t want a woman; he wanted a broken thing he could call Vesper, a slut and a whore to perform his twisted little plays. She wanted to spit in his face, to claw his eyes out, to scream until the glass walls of his pristine office shattered.
But Vesper purred. She arched her back inside their shared mind, feeling the phantom thrill of his gaze on her skin. She saw the same man, but through a different lens. Vesper saw the raw power that radiated from him. The memory of the passionate boy he had been was replaced by the cold, calculating bastard who owned people’s secrets. That was what made her cunt wet.
He was a force of nature, and Vesper wanted him. She wanted to be bent over this desk, fucked raw and used, and be his partner in depravity and lust. Oh, the wicked, delicious things he would have her do. The thought was a jolt of electricity.
Dominic saw the flicker of the battle in her eyes. He saw the flash of hate followed by the slow, subtle softening of surrender. It was the most goddamn beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Dominic leaned back in his leather chair, looking at his whore. He didn’t see Dr. Collins, the person that got him tossed out of academia on so-called ethics violations; he saw Vesper, his whore, whom he could use to build his empire.
“How much is a virgin asshole worth, Professor?
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, knowing there was some nefarious scheme he had in mind.
Dominic continued, “How much is that virgin asshole worth if it’s the wife of a TV evangelist?
Elizabeth squinted. “Patti?”
Dominic grinned. “We have a special request, Professor. Your favorite kind of hypocrites.”
He let the words hang in the air. “James and Patti. The TV evangelists. The “Sanctified Couple” that you personally took down the path of debauchery and immorality.”
He chuckled, “It seems that Patti, the clinically clean evangelist wife, is not the only one in their marriage that has a fantasy. The good reverend has a dark secret that he can’t preach away from the pulpit. He wants to watch his precious, pure wife get fucked by a well-hung stud. A cuckolding session.”
Vesper felt a twitch in her cunt, an excitement at the words. Elizabeth remained impassive, her face a mask of professional neutrality.
“They want discretion, of course,” Dominic continued, waving a dismissive hand. “Can’t have their flock knowing the shepherd’s wife is a size queen who gets off on humiliating her husband. That’s where you come in. You orchestrate this. Every detail.”
He leaned forward, his smile widening, showing the edge of his teeth. This was the real point. The humiliation. “Think about it, Elizabeth. You, the dean of the Ethics Department, are now the madam arranging a stranger to fuck a married woman and have her virgin asshole deflowered. You’re the one actively corrupting them, turning their sacred vows into a cheap, tawdry fuck show for profit. How does that make you feel? To be the architect of their fall from grace?”
For Dominic, forcing her to orchestrate this kind of carnal event was the same as forcing her to spread her legs for those power-hungry high rollers he was selling her body to.
Sofia looked up at Dominic and Elizabeth. She knew that humiliating Elizabeth was what really got Dominic off. She saw the desire that flashed across Elizabeth’s face.
Damn, he just fucks with her. She gets off on it almost as much as he does. They should just go get a room, she thought.
Elizabeth sighed. “It’s a job that you are forcing me to do,” she replied, her voice steady. “What are my options?”
Dominic laughed, a genuine, booming sound this time. “That’s my girl.” He slid a thin tablet across the desk. “I’ve pulled three files. All vetted, all clean, and all very well equipped. They all have a particular fetish for using the wives of lesser men. Review them. Pick the bull. I want your recommendation by morning.”
“Sure,” she replied. “I have a lecture to do this afternoon, so I’ll get the recommendation to you later this evening.
Elizabeth looked at Dominic with a glare. “Is there anything else my pimp needs?”
Dominic felt that familiar warmth of revenge, wondering if the pleasure of degrading his onetime lover and the destroyer of his academic career was ever going to go away.
He got up and offered his hand to help her up. “Not right now, Professor.”
Elizabeth picked up the tablet. She stood up, straightening her skirt, and looked at him, thinking, “You’re never going to drag me down into the sewer, you disgusting sewer rat.
Vesper couldn’t wait to get started, thinking, Let’s blow off the lecture and get to the new assignment.
Elizabeth won this time, walking out the door with what was left of her dignity.
After Elizabeth left, Sofia looked over at Dominic and then shook her head.
In a cool tone, “It’s business, Sofia, not a personal pleasure.”
“Yeah right,” she scoffed and went back to her tablet.
The drive from Dominic’s downtown office to the community center was only a few miles but felt like an eternity. She could still see the faces and stats of the men she was supposed to choose for Patti from the tablet. Each one of them would fuck Patti in a different way both mentally and physically.
He told her to pick the man, the cock, the tool to defile the marriage of the TV evangelist couple.
Vesper, you fucking whore. Look what you’ve done to us.
How could she, Dr. Elizabeth Collins, do this? She was a mother. She taught Kant and Mill. She was the flag bearer for all that was moral and ethical. She believed that moral fortitude and ethical self-responsibility were the foundation of a civilized society.
How can she, as the dean of Ethics, pontificate about moral virtues and then turn around and become a pimp for televangelists? The thought was so absurd it almost made her laugh.
But then the voice of Vesper came in.
But think of the power, Lizzy. Think of it. We’re not just a piece of meat to be fucked this time. We’re directors. We’re the one pulling the strings. We choose the cock. We set the stage. We get to watch the whole beautiful, filthy show unfold, and we get the best seat in the house. Doesn’t that make you wet?
Elizabeth squeezed her thighs together. She felt the stirring in her cunt. She hated Vesper. She hated the part of her that felt a thrill and excitement at the thought of orchestrating such a wanton act of lust and sex.
The Sanctified Couple. She remembered Patti’s wide, innocent eyes as she’d guided her through her first steps into submission, the way she’d blushed and then bloomed under the attention.
James, the reverend, with his practiced, sincere smile and his hungry, covetous gaze. He wanted to see his wife taken by another man. He wanted to participate in his own cuckolding, to sit there and watch another man fuck his wife.
It was depraved. It was sick.
Vesper whispered, “It’s hot.” Imagine his face. The good Reverend, watching his Patti, his ‘gift from God,’ getting split open by a stranger’s huge, thick cock. Imagine the shame and the lust all mixed up on his face. We’re not just a whore, Dr. Collins. We’re what they preach to others to avoid. We’re their devil.
Elizabeth pulled into the parking lot of the community center, a drab building dedicated to uplifting the city’s youth. She killed the engine and sat for a moment, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. In the rearview mirror she saw the face of a woman that was selling her existence as a moral pillar of the community. She took a deep breath, forcing the mask back into place. Dr. Collins. The Dean. The moral compass.
She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her blouse, and practiced a small, serene smile in the mirror.
Inside, the small auditorium was already filling with the well-meaning volunteers, social workers, and earnest-faced college students. They greeted her with warmth and respect. “Dr. Collins! So glad you could make it!” “We’re so honored to have you.”
Each compliment felt like a needle prick against her skin. She smiled, nodded, and made her way to the small stage at the front of the room. She stood behind the lectern, her notes placed before her. The title of her lecture, projected on the screen behind her, read “Moral Courage in a Compromised World: Living an Authentic Life.”
The hypocrisy was evident. Were there other people in the crowd that could see through the veil of secrecy?
She cleared her throat, and the room fell silent. All eyes were on her, expectant and trusting. She looked out at their faces, so full of hope and belief in the good. She was about to lie to every single one of them.
“Good afternoon,” she began. Her voice was steady and clear, the familiar academic tone she had honed over decades. “Thank you for having me. Today, I want to talk about a concept that is increasingly rare in our modern landscape: integrity.”
She paused, letting the word hang in the air. Integrity. The sound of it in her own mouth was like ash.
“Integrity is not merely about knowing the difference between right and wrong. It is about the courage to choose the right path, even when it is difficult, even when it is costly. It’s about the alignment of your inner values with your outer actions. It’s about being one person, whole and undivided, in the light and in the dark.”
As she spoke, Vesper laughed inside her. Undivided? Oh, Lizzy, you’re a masterpiece of division. You’re a walking paradox. A holy whore.
Elizabeth’s grip on the lectern tightened, her knuckles turning white again. She pushed through shutting out Vesper.
Looking at a young woman in the front row who was nodding earnestly, her notebook open, “We’re all tested. We’re all faced with moments where our principles are challenged by powerful forces. By greed, by lust, by fear. By the desire for power or the need to protect what we hold dear.”
She thought of Dominic’s smile, of the tablet with its menu of bulls, of the sanctimonious face of Reverend James. She was protecting her children, her career, her entire life. But in doing so, she was shattering the very foundation of everything she claimed to believe in.
“A person without integrity is a house built on sand. There is a strong facade to the world, but inside, that person is crumbling. They are a collection of contradictions, a performance for an audience they secretly despise. They become architects of their own spiritual decay, building a life not on truth but on a series of shameful compromises.”
A wave of dizziness washed over her. She was describing herself and Vesper at the same time. She was trying to use herself as a cautionary tale.
But Vesper was stronger now. Don’t stop, you magnificent hypocrite. You’re brilliant. Look at them, drinking it in. They love you. They love the lie. Tell them more. Tell them how good it feels to be bad. Tell them how freeing it is to finally let go of all that tedious morality.
She finished with, “So I ask you to look inside yourselves. To ask the hard questions. To find the strength to live an authentic life. To be whole. To be true.”
The applause was enthusiastic. She stood there, basking in it, the two warring selves feeling differently. Elizabeth felt the shame, the deep weight of her deception. And Vesper felt the power of standing in the light and telling the most beautiful, damning lie she had ever told.
Elizabeth packed up her notes. She shook a few hands, offered a few tight, practiced smiles, and walked to her car.
She didn’t go home. She couldn’t. She had to now be the pimp. She had to pick a well-hung stud to fuck the Patti and let her husband, the TV evangelist, watch.
The thought of facing her children, her house, and the life she was trying to protect was too much. Instead, she drove to a hotel bar on the edge of the city. She didn’t realize it, but the hotel was a known gathering place for the local working girls.
She ordered a whiskey rather than her usual glass of wine. The burn as it slid down her throat was a punishment for what she was about to do. She placed Dominic’s tablet on the bar. The three faces stared back at her.
Cheerfully, Vesper said, “Let’s get to work. This isn’t just picking a cock. This is hand-picking the instrument of their moral corruption.
Elizabeth took another swallow of whiskey, hoping the burn would wash Vesper away.
She opened the first file.
Candidate A: Julian Croft.
The Persona: The Architect. A man in his late 40s, a venture capitalist who built his fortune on hostile takeovers. He saw cuckolding as the ultimate corporate transaction. He was cold, precise, and devastatingly handsome. His file noted his clinical detachment; he would fuck Patti with the same analytical precision he’d use to dismantle a company, breaking her down piece by piece while explaining the mechanics of her pleasure to her husband.
She typed in her notes.
The architect. The venture capitalist. His face was chiseled, intelligent, and utterly devoid of warmth. He has a methodical approach and a desire to explain the process and deconstruct the act of fucking like a hostile takeover of a woman’s body.
“Disgusting,” Elizabeth whispered.
She continues to type. He has a monster ego. He’d turn Patti into a quarterly report. He’d analyze her orgasm like a profit-and-loss statement. It’s clinical. It’s soulless.”
Vesper countered. Oh, but isn’t it perfect, Lizzy? Think of the psychological precision. He wouldn’t just fuck her; he’d dissect her marriage, right there in front of her husband. He would break her down with logic, with cold, hard facts. He’d make James understand exactly why he was inadequate. It’s not just cuckolding; it’s an intellectual evisceration of their marriage and core beliefs. We’re not just selling a fuck; we’re selling a lesson in superiority.
Elizabeth shuddered, repulsed yet intrigued. She swiped to the next file.
Candidate B: Mateo Vargas.
The Persona: The Bull. Early 30s, a former professional athlete turned luxury real estate agent. He was all primal energy, muscle, and raw, animal charisma. He didn’t want to talk; he wanted to conquer. His fetish was purely physical. He got off on the sheer physical act of making a woman feel his strength, on reducing a husband to a broken spectator by the power of his cock.
She typed her notes for this candidate.
Mateo Vargas. The Bull. His photo showed raw power. Dark, intense eyes, a solid square jaw, a body that promised nothing but brute force. His profile was simple: he was an animal. He wanted to conquer, to dominate, to overwhelm with pure physicality.
“He’s a beast,” Elizabeth said.
She continued to type. He’d treat her like a piece of meat. There’s no art, no subtlety. Just pure fucking.
Vesper responded, “That’s the beauty of it. It’s primal; it’s honest. No games, no pretense. Just the raw truth of the flesh. Imagine Patti, that delicate religious little flower, being brutally fucked. Imagine the look on James’s face when he realizes that all his sermons, all his prayers, mean nothing when his wife is overtaken by pure lust and animalistic sex.
Elizabeth felt a familiar, unwelcome throb between her legs. The image of a huge thick cock in Patti’s tight cunt made her wet.
She picked out the final candidate.
Candidate C: Silas Dubois.
The Persona: The Artist. A man in his late 30s, a renowned sculptor and painter. Very handsome and muscular. He was the most dangerous. He saw himself as an artist and the wife as his medium. He wouldn’t just fuck her; he would craft an experience. He would seduce her mind first, then shatter that illusion with a brutal fuck that would leave her emotionally and physically drained. He was rumored to do much work for the Church.
She typed notes.
Silas Dubois. The Artist. Handsome, masculine, an Alpha male.
His profile was the most disturbing. He didn’t just want to fuck; he wanted to create and destroy. He wanted to seduce not just Patti’s body but her mind as well to give her a taste of an experience her marriage could never provide. He would turn from lover to devil with a fuck so brutal and intense it would leave her spent, mentally and physically.
“No,” Elizabeth said, her voice firm. “No. This is the worst one. He’s a predator of the heart. He wouldn’t just break her body; he’d break her spirit. He’d make her crave him long after he’s gone. That could destroy their marriage from the inside out. It’s cruel. It’s unforgivable.”
Vespe said it’s perfect. It’s the ultimate masterpiece, Lizzy. The other two are just about the sex. Julian is cold and clinical; Mateo is a butcher. But Silas is an artist. He wouldn’t just give them a night of depravity; he’d give them a trip to the hell they have been preaching about. He’d give James a memory of his wife looking at another man with a hunger he could never satisfy. He’d give Patti an experience with a true Alpha taking her body and mind. We’re not just arranging a cuckolding; we’re the orchestrator of their journey to depravity.
Elizabeth stared at the three faces. The cold logician, the primal beast, the demonic artist. Each one a different flavor of damnation.
She closed her eyes, the whiskey doing little to numb the ache. Dominic told her to be the architect of their fall. He told her to choose the tool. The bastard was still making her work for him now as a pimp instead of as the whore spreading her legs. She was still his whore, though.
A wicked smile spread across her lips. It was Vesper’s smile, but Elizabeth wore it now. She knew which one to choose. It wasn’t about what was best for the clients. It wasn’t about what was most discreet. It was about what would please Dominic the most. It was about what would create the most beautiful, catastrophic wreckage.
She picked up her phone, calling Dominic.
“Dominic,” she said when he answered, her voice confident. “I’ve made my recommendation.”
“Already, Professor? I’m impressed.”
“It’s Silas Dubois,” she said, savoring the name. “The Artist.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and she could feel his grin through the phone. “The Artist,” he repeated softly. “Vesper, you never cease to disappoint. A truly inspired choice.”
“I thought so,” she said, swirling the last of the whiskey in her glass. “He won’t just fuck her, Dominic. He’ll ruin her. He’ll ruin them both. And he’ll make them thank him for it.”
She hung up the phone and finished her drink. The war was over. The hypocrite and the whore had finally merged into one. Dr. Elizabeth Collins, Dean of Ethics, had just made her first professional recommendation as a pimp and madam.
She closed the lid on the tablet. The whiskey had given her a warm, comfortable glow. She was Vesper now. Fully and completely.
A man had settled onto the barstool two seats down while she was lost in her decision. He was handsome in a suburban kind of way, clean-shaven, and someone Elizabeth would relate to very well. He’d been chatting with the bartender, a muscular man named Leo.
The man at the bar was looking at her. Leo the bartender came over to Elizabeth, polishing a glass with a practiced motion. “The gentleman at the end of the bar would like to buy you a drink, ma’am,” he said, his voice low and professional.
Vesper smiled.
“Tell him I’d love another whiskey and thank him for me.” She winked, and Leo’s professional mask cracked for a second, revealing a flicker of understanding. He nodded and moved away.
When he returned, he set her drink down and lingered for a moment, leaning against the bar. “Haven’t seen you in here before,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking towards the man, who was now sipping his drink and trying to act casual. “Just wanted to let you know I can handle any unwanted advances. Keep things smooth.” He let the statement hang in the air, the unspoken meaning clear. The girls usually gave me a tip to be their bouncer, their filter, their protection.
Vesper felt a thrill shoot through her. She hadn’t intended on working tonight, but why the hell not? She’d just sold her soul to arrange a masterpiece of depravity. What was one more transaction? What was one more cock? It was just business. “What’s the standard tip?” she asked.
Surprisingly, Elizabeth agreed. I’m Dominic’s whore, not his damned pimp. She wanted to prove that she was the whore and only the whore.
“Ten percent of the take,” Leo said. “And for that, I can line them up for you. Vet them. Make sure they’re not trouble.”
She extended her hand, her long, manicured fingers closing over his. “We have a deal,” she said, smiling.
She turned her attention back to the man. He took the bait, sliding onto the stool beside her.
“Hi,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m Tom.”
“Vesper,” she replied. She placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the muscle twitch beneath the fabric of his trousers. “You look a little lost, Tom. Long day?”
He flushed, a dark red creeping up his neck. “Yeah. Sales call. I’m in town for the night. Just ... you know.” He gestured vaguely.
“Mmm, I know exactly,” she purred, leaning in so her breath was hot against his ear. “A man like you, away from home, all that stress building up. You need some distraction, some personal comfort, don’t you, baby? A little release to help you sleep.”
He smiled. “As a matter of fact, that would be great. Those people I have to deal with are so unreasonable and just don’t listen to what a great product we have. They say they are ready to give us the purchase order, and then they delay. I’ve got a family to support...”
He stopped suddenly, wondering why he was talking about his family when he was talking to a hooker.
Vesper by this time knew he was nervous and was not sure how to proceed. She took a sip of her whiskey, getting him comfortable. “I know what you mean. I have two kids, one in college that I pay for. It gets really stressful handling the home front and the business front.”
He seemed to loosen up. “Yeah, I have the same thing: two kids in college and one going this fall. The pressure of closing these deals is pretty tough sometimes.
Vesper took the chance to get to the point. “I know how you feel, Tom.” She pressed closer to him. “There’s nothing wrong with letting go of some of that tension and frustration.”
She put her hands on his shoulders and started rubbing, feeling the tension.
“Oh, that feels good.” He looked at her. “You know I’ve never done this before. I ... uh ... I’m married and...”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “None of that matters right now, Tom. You’re here; I’m here. I can help you relax and burn off that tension. Nobody will ever know.
“You don’t seem to be the type of person that is a ... well...”
Vesper now was definitely in charge.
“A whore?” She laughed. “That’s all just stereotyping. We are consenting adults here, Tom. I think you’re cute. You have commitments to your wife and kids; that’s admirable. I can tell that. I have the same situation; my family is important, and I do what I can to provide for them. So if I’m a whore for taking care of my kids, then so be it.”
He was amazed that he was having this type of conversation with a whore.
She leaned in and nibbled on his ear. Let’s go upstairs and get rid of some of that tension, Tom.
She put her hand on his thigh. “Hang on a second; I need to talk to the bartender real quick.”
She excused herself, sliding off the stool and sashaying to the end of the bar where Leo was polishing glasses. “What’s the going rate for a guy like this?” she asked.
Leo looked at her. “For a classy piece of ass like you? Five hundred for a half hour. Eight hundred for the hour. He looks like he’ll pop in ten minutes, so quote him the hour. Easy money.”
She returned to Tom, her hips swaying. She took his hand again, lacing her fingers through his. “I can help you with all that stress, Tom. I can make you forget all about your sales call and the family pressure for a little while.” She leaned in close, her lips brushing his earlobe. “Let’s go to your room.”
His breath hitched. “How ... how much?”
“Eight hundred for an hour,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “And you can cum as many times as you want. I’ll make sure you get your money’s worth.” He just nodded, completely mesmerized. They stopped by the ATM in the lobby; the machine spit out the cash.
Inside his room, he fumbled with the envelope, his hands shaking as he passed it to her. She took the crisp bills. She felt like such a fucking whore, and the feeling made her cunt pulse with wet heat.
“Alright, Tom,” she said, tossing the envelope onto the dresser. “Time for Vesper to take care of you.” She pointed to the chair. He sat down with his eyes fixated on Vesper.
She took off her conservative blazer. She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a black shelf bra. She shimmied out of her skirt, standing before him in her heels, the thong, and the shelf bra that pushed her tits up and out.
She straddled his lap and then sank down gyrating her hips. She reached around and unhooked her bra. Her big, natural tits fell out, with her rock-hard nipples pointing outward. She licked her lips. “Go ahead, squeeze them.”
Tom didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed her tits and squeezed the full fleshy mounds of tit flesh.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes wide. He pinched her nipples, then leaned in and sucked on her big hard nipples.
Vesper moaned. It never fails; men are so mesmerized by big tits.
She stood up, then leaned down and took off his shoes. She then unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled his pants off. She smiled and ran her hands up and down the outline of his cock in his undershorts.
She smiled, leaned in, and used her teeth to pull his undershorts off. His cock springing to life, standing straight up,
She stood up, turned around, bent forward, and pulled her thong off. She looked back at Tom, then pulled her ass cheeks apart, giving him a full view of her wet cunt and tight, puckered asshole.
“Oh my God” was all he could say.
She knelt down, looked him in the eyes, and then wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. She gently fondled his balls.
Tom moaned, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck, that feels good.”
She flicked her tongue piercing across the tip of his cock while she stroked his cock up and down. She opened her mouth wide and took his cock in her mouth with her lips wrapped tight around his cock as she bobbed her head up and down. She let his cock out of her mouth with a big plopping sound. She then started to bob her head up and down, making sloppy slurping sounds with her mouth. She knew men liked the sound effects of a sloppy blowjob.
She drooled all over his shaft, the spit running down his balls as she bobbed her head, taking him deep until her nose was pressed against his stomach. She looked up at him as she choked on his cock.
Oh, god,” he groaned, his hands grabbing Vesper’s head.