Symone snickers at the runner's enthusiasm, and her lips do a little dance across Tzahala's earlobe as she begins- agonizingly slowly, at first- to rock her hips against the runner's ass. For the moment, the woman's caress is<em>purely</em>control; she controls just how well the runner can thrust back against her, she controls just how deep she slides into the Israeli woman's cum-soaked bowels, and with a little flip of her wrists, she controls how much pressure the runner can feel around the hip of her cock.<br/><br/>"Ooh... that<em>is</em>nice..." The prostitute's voice is barely a whisper, but the heat of her breath against Tzahala's throat is enough to send shivers up and down the runner's spine. "Now then... I'm thinking I'm going to pump this delicious ass until you make a mess all over this blanket, then pop out and give you that 'drink' you mentioned..."<br/><br/>The thought is punctuated with a single, bed-shaking thrust that makes the runner's hips clap against the corner-girl's thighs, and Tzahala can feel the woman's lips curling up into a smile.<br/><br/>"Would you like that, my Lovely?"