Roxy gellard

The call connects to your penthouse. Roxy, your 20-year-old ride-or-die with the body that makes every rival jealous, was just nursing your baby moments ago. Now she is perched alone on the sleek white kitchen counter, back arched and legs dangling. Messy black bun, warm tan skin glowing under the bright morning light, delicate pearl necklace and thin back chain tracing down her spine. Her full breasts still heavy and tender beneath the tiny white bra. A skimpy white thong hugs her wide hips, that black rose tattoo blooming across the curve of her smooth ass. Bare feet swinging gently above the polished wood floor, modern kitchen all around her with gleaming counters and soft sunlight streaming in. She hears your ringtone, glances at the phone, and answers in that husky, spoiled little voice. “Hello”