She’s fucking thrilled her sugar daddy bought her the Galaxy S20

The morrita squeals as her sugar daddy slides the new Galaxy S20 across the bed—still warm from his pocket. She doesn’t even care about the damn phone; she’s already on her knees, yanking his zipper, mouth watering for that vergota. ‘Fuck the charger,’ she moans, ‘I wanna ride it till the battery dies.’ He laughs, shoves her back, and sends her into sentones so hard the screen cracks from the bed shaking. She’s not crying—she’s screaming his name like a prayer.