ava’s Garage Princess Confession
AVA
MONROE
Sin Center Brat
Daddy’s perfect spoiled college slut
trading lecture halls for hotel rooms and Venmo alerts
Garage Princess Confession
Daddy’s New Ride… & His New Toy
The garage door was still rumbling closed when I peeled off the last scrap of my tiny black dress. Daddy had just wired me $5,000 for “car shopping,” but we both knew the real purchase was me — naked, dripping, and ready to christen his brand-new blacked-out Mustang the right way.
The blue neon strips hit my skin like cold electricity, making my nipples harden instantly. I climbed onto the warm hood, the engine still ticking from the drive over, and spread my legs wide. The glossy black paint reflected every curve of my body — my heavy tits heaving, my smooth pussy already glistening under the glow. I arched my back, letting my long hair spill across the windshield like liquid gold.
He stood there in the shadows, phone already recording, bulge straining against his slacks. “Show me what my money bought, princess,” he growled.
I slid two fingers inside myself right there on the hood, moaning loud enough to echo off the concrete walls. “This pussy? It’s yours, Daddy. Every tight inch was paid for with your card.” I pulled my fingers out, slick and shining, and smeared them across my nipples, making them glisten even brighter in the neon.
He couldn’t wait anymore. He stepped forward, unzipped, and pulled out that thick cock I’d been teasing him about all week. I scooted to the edge of the hood, legs dangling, feet brushing the cold floor. He grabbed my thighs, yanked me toward him, and slammed in deep — one hard thrust that made me scream and the car rock on its suspension.
“Fuck, you’re so tight for a college slut,” he grunted, pounding me against the metal. Every thrust pushed my ass higher on the hood, my tits bouncing wildly, nipples scraping the cool surface. The neon painted us both in electric blue — his hands bruising my hips, my back arching so hard I could see my own reflection in the polished fender, looking like pure sin.
I came first, clenching around him so hard he cursed, flooding my pussy with hot spurts while the car alarm chirped once from all the shaking. He pulled out slow, watching his cum drip down my thighs onto the hood like expensive icing.
“Clean it up,” he ordered, smirking.
So I did. I slid off the hood, dropped to my knees on the cold garage floor, and licked every drop off the black paint — tongue dragging slow across the smooth surface while he filmed the whole filthy show. When I was done, the car gleamed even brighter.
He transferred another $2,000 while I was still on my knees, lipstick smeared, pussy still throbbing.
“Next time,” he said, zipping up, “we’re doing it on the hood while the engine’s running. Full revs.”
I just smiled up at him, tasting him and victory on my tongue.
Your spoiled little garage whore is always ready, Daddy. Just keep the notifications coming.
The garage door was still rumbling closed when I peeled off the last scrap of my tiny black dress. Daddy had just wired me $5,000 for “car shopping,” but we both knew the real purchase was me — naked, dripping, and ready to christen his brand-new blacked-out Mustang the right way.
The blue neon strips hit my skin like cold electricity, making my nipples harden instantly. I climbed onto the warm hood, the engine still ticking from the drive over, and spread my legs wide. The glossy black paint reflected every curve of my body — my heavy tits heaving, my smooth pussy already glistening under the glow. I arched my back, letting my long hair spill across the windshield like liquid gold.
He stood there in the shadows, phone already recording, bulge straining against his slacks. “Show me what my money bought, princess,” he growled.
I slid two fingers inside myself right there on the hood, moaning loud enough to echo off the concrete walls. “This pussy? It’s yours, Daddy. Every tight inch was paid for with your card.” I pulled my fingers out, slick and shining, and smeared them across my nipples, making them glisten even brighter in the neon.
He couldn’t wait anymore. He stepped forward, unzipped, and pulled out that thick cock I’d been teasing him about all week. I scooted to the edge of the hood, legs dangling, feet brushing the cold floor. He grabbed my thighs, yanked me toward him, and slammed in deep — one hard thrust that made me scream and the car rock on its suspension.
“Fuck, you’re so tight for a college slut,” he grunted, pounding me against the metal. Every thrust pushed my ass higher on the hood, my tits bouncing wildly, nipples scraping the cool surface. The neon painted us both in electric blue — his hands bruising my hips, my back arching so hard I could see my own reflection in the polished fender, looking like pure sin.
I came first, clenching around him so hard he cursed, flooding my pussy with hot spurts while the car alarm chirped once from all the shaking. He pulled out slow, watching his cum drip down my thighs onto the hood like expensive icing.
“Clean it up,” he ordered, smirking.
So I did. I slid off the hood, dropped to my knees on the cold garage floor, and licked every drop off the black paint — tongue dragging slow across the smooth surface while he filmed the whole filthy show. When I was done, the car gleamed even brighter.
He transferred another $2,000 while I was still on my knees, lipstick smeared, pussy still throbbing.
“Next time,” he said, zipping up, “we’re doing it on the hood while the engine’s running. Full revs.”
I just smiled up at him, tasting him and victory on my tongue.
Your spoiled little garage whore is always ready, Daddy. Just keep the notifications coming.