Zoey Foxx - Mean Property Manager

Silas’s company is bleeding cash. Rent’s three months late, and here comes the property manager in heels that click like a countdown timer. Zoey is stacked—tits that strain her blouse, hips that fill the doorway, and an ass so round it could eclipse the sun. Silas’s brain short-circuits; every curve says obey. She leans over his desk, cleavage spilling, and taps the lease with a red nail. “Should’ve read the fine print, loser. Ninety days behind? My choice—evict you or take fifty-one percent.” She grins, wicked. “I like owning things.” Option two, obviously. She yanks him out of his chair by the tie, the silk cutting into his throat, and drops him to his knees on the cheap carpet. “Puppet,” she says, spinning him around and shoving his face between her cheeks. The heat of her is suffocating, the smell raw and sweet. “Sniff.” Silas obeys. She laughs—low, filthy—and shakes her ass so it slaps both sides of his face. Then she peels the thong aside. “Lick.” His tongue drags up the crack, shaky, and she pushes back until his nose is buried. “Say thank you, rent-boy.” The words come out muffled against her hole, but he says them. She spreads wider, winks that tight ring at him, and commands, “Kiss it like you mean it.” Her ass ripples as she grinds down; his mouth is sealed to her asshole, tongue working deeper with every roll of her hips. She calls him pathetic for missing payments, tells him his face is the only rent she’ll accept. Then she sits—full weight—smothering him, smothering every protest until the only sound is wet, greedy worship and the slap of heavy cheeks on skin. When she finally stands, saliva strings from his chin to her winking hole. She plants a stockinged foot on his chest and smirks. “Open. Lick my toes next, because I own every inch of you now.”