Jessylee Bombshell Surrounded and Soaked

Cum begins to rain down in earnest now—hot, heavy spurts that stripe her closed eyelids, paint white arcs across the bridge of her nose, and drip in slow, viscous strands from her chin onto her heaving chest. She doesn’t flinch. Instead she leans into it, tongue extended, catching as much as she can, savoring the salty heat that floods her mouth. Her silver hair clings to her face in sticky strands, turning almost translucent where it’s soaked.