The pawn shop's bell jingles, announcing a customer. The shop owner, a burly man with a raging hard-on, doesn't expect the woman to be a spitfire in glasses. She spots his tented pants and, with a mischievous smile, drops to her knees. Her glasses slip down her nose as she takes him in, her tongue dancing along his veiny length. She's an amateur, but her enthusiasm is infectious, her moans echoing in the empty shop as she takes him deep, her glasses fogging up with each thrust.