Waking urges

Layla moves closer, hips swaying, cock hanging.

Her blonde hair falls down her shoulders, framing her chest, but doing little to cover their glory.

“Ethan,” she calls, her voice a siren song. “Come to me. Cum for me.”

Her hands wander her body, exploring her curves, both the matronly and manly.

“And then,” she grasps herself, one hand on a fat tit the other her prick.

“I will cum for you.”