Ava Kelly Prays for Shame

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I've earned the reputation of a gifted deep throat-er from my time conversing online. I've been dared to find some of the biggest fuck sticks and gulp them whole, kindly showing off when I succeed. Maybe that's why he found me and tied me to a post in his dungeon. He left me in the brilliant posture for what he had in mind: on my knees, my palms pulled back to the post. He wished to test how well I can actually blow-job a pony dinky like his. He wasted no time, shoveling his dinky all the way down my facehole to his balls. All he wished to hear was me gasping on his ginormous shaft. I did like all the spit that fell from my mouth. I didn't make it easy for him. I just wished him to keep trying. I liked experiencing his dinky reaming my throat. He must have been amazed because he propped me up, blinded me and pummeled me from behind. I enjoyed his man sausage in my vagina much better, particularly when he gripped my head and used it to bounce me on his pulsating manhood. He made me tell him how much I liked it. He even made me pray for more disgrace. I was actually being honest.