Friday's intimate drip

The clock strikes nine, and she's already on her knees, worshipping his morning wood. Her tongue swirls around his head, tracing the ridge, before she takes him all in. He grunts, his hands fisting her hair, as she picks up the pace. She's dripping, her thighs slick with need. He lifts her onto the counter, her legs wrapping around him, and slides in, her tightness enveloping him. They move together, their bodies slapping, until he can't hold back any longer. He pulls out, his cock pulsing, and paints her pussy with his load, the creamy evidence of their passion dripping down her thighs.

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