Tan lines from yesterday’s stockings still clinging to her thighs, mascara smudged like war paint after the struggle. No warning—just that first brutal shove into her mouth, cock already slick with pre-cum sliding past lips stretched too wide. She gags but doesn’t pull back, fingers clawing at the counter edge for purchase while he grips her head like she’s his own personal cum dumpster. Backroom bar air smells like spilled beer and desperation. The mirror behind them reflects nothing but two bodies locked in this silent battle: him slamming deeper each time she fights for breath, her eyes watering but never breaking eye contact through the blur.
