Petite italian babe letting her guy lick and fuck her ass

The petite Italian bombshell sashays into frame, her delicate features and golden tresses a stark contrast to the dark, dungeon-like setting. She’s clad in a lacy white bra and matching panties, the flimsy fabric leaving little to the imagination. Her perky B-cup breasts strain against the confines of the undergarment, nipples visible through the sheer material.

With a coy smile, she reaches back and unhooks her bra, freeing her pert tits. They bounce as they’re released, rosy peaks jutted out tantalizingly. She trails a hand down her flat stomach, hooking thumbs into her waistband and shimmying the panties off. Another flash of smile as they pool at her ankles. Stepping out of them, she stands proudly, all tanned skin and honey blonde curls, nude as Eve.

The man, her accomplice in this arousing tableau, enters stage left. He is tall, muscular, his chest covered in a smattering of dark hair. He wears a pair of low-slung jeans, their fabric straining over his bulge. His gaze is raptorish, prey focused, as it roves over the woman’s body.

She turns, presenting her heart-shaped ass to him. It jiggles slightly as she bends at the waist, gripping the backs of her thighs. The swollen lips of her pussy peek out at him, glistening with arousal. A dewy string of juices connects her mound to the tops of her thighs.

He kneels behind her, his face level with her backside. She looks over her shoulder at him, one honey brows raised in invitation. He leans in, his breath hot on her slit. She shudders, anticipation building.

Then he’s licking her, broad strokes of his tongue up and down her cleft. He parts her lips, rummaging inside her wet heat. She gasps, fingers tightening on her thighs. Her hips gyrate, pushing back onto his face. He laps at her, tongue delving deep, probing her entrance.

“Si, così,” she moans. “Leck mich, leck mich!”

His tongue moves up, determined ascent, until it circles her clit. She mewls as he flicks the sensitive bud, sensation sparking through nerves. His tongue then lower, snaking slit to rosebud.

She tenses, experiencing a flutter of trepidation. But as his tongue breaches her puckered hole, pushing into her tight channel, something in her ignites. It’s filthy, wrong, so beautifully deliciously degrading to be licked there.

His tongue stirs inside her, the textured surface stimulating hers walls. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps. A finger joins his tongue, prodding her, readying her. Then two fingers, pumping in her ass, stretching her.

“Dai, fallo ora,” she pleads, lost in sensation. “Sfacciato! Quel porco perverso!”

She feels the blunt pressure of his cockhead replacing his fingers. Her hole clenches reflexively before relaxing, allowing him entrance. He sinks into her, filling her, his length buried to the hilt.

She cries out, a guttural howl of pleasure. He rocks into her, finding a rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of her ass. The drag of his shaft against the walls of her back passage is exquisite, raw, more intense than anything else. Her fingers are knotted in her hair, pulling, as arcs of sensation burn along her spine.

He reaches around, his fingers strumming her clit in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation is too much, the crown of her head tingling. Her ass spasms around him as her climax builds, sucking him in deeper.

“Mi vengo!” she wails, “Vengo così forte!” Her orgasm crashed over her, making her convulsed, her skin sizzled.

He pounds into her, chasing his own release. With a harsh grunt, he slams to the hilt one last time and erupts, flooding her bowels with his seed. He rolls them to the side, both of them panting, she quivering in the aftermath.

In the aftermath, they laze in the satin sheets, the Italian woman sprawled across the man’s chest. She toys with the hair on his pec, dragging her nails through it. She smiles to herself, recalling their heated encounter.

“You are horndog,” she teases, “A dirty deviant, full of mischievous ideas.” He smirks, the side of his mouth quirking up.

“Dolcezza, I am just a man who knows how to appreciate sfiziose prelibatezze,” he replies, his voice a rumble in his chest.

She giggles, delighted by his response. Raising up on an elbow, she traces random patterns on his abdomen, smiling impishly. “And just what kind of delicacies are you hungry for next?” she asks.

The hazy light of day only accentuates their post-coital glow. The scene has all the makings of a classical erotic tableau, a celebration of carnal delights and the human form. A sordid yet beautiful intimacy, a tangle of sweaty limbs and shared climax, a thorough exploration of each other’s most intimate places.

Yet the climax yields no closure, only desire rekindled and tongues wagging. They bask, basking in the afterglow but setting the stage for the next play.

A new game, a new angle, a new contortion of bodies and positions. Fucking not for procreation but just for the sake of and for thrills, for showcasing their bodies to each other. A naked tussle, bucking, rutting. An affirmation of their youth, of their vitality, of their uncontrollable lust.