Power Suit, Bad Intentions

You came to “see the house”—but Luciana? She was always the true attraction. Fiery red hair, sleek black power suit, skirt sharply cut and set high. Just as she appeared in the service where you discovered her. She lounges on the couch as if she owns the place—like she owns you—flipping through the listing just to watch you squirm. You fumble through numbers and comparable properties, pretending you’re here to negotiate. She tilts her head, grinning like she already knows the answer. “Will this help?” The skirt slides up as she reclines, legs slowly parting—stockings stretched tight, garter clipped, nylon panties fully visible. She strokes your cock with her nylon-clad feet. She fucks you as if she’s performed this act countless times before—like this moment was destined, not random, but anticipated. She takes you in her mouth like it’s owed to her. Rides you like the price was agreed upon long ago. And maybe it was. No one documented it. Nothing was verbalized. But somehow, you both grasp the terms, and she was extremely costly. The deal? Still open—like a scene from black VR porn 3D scene.