
Your complete irrelevance visualized as feminine desire excludes masculine presence entirely. Darker than anything you've seen before. Dive deeper than you ever thought possible. Step into the darkness willingly. The deeper you go, the darker it gets.
Sarah Jessie runs HR and goes home to Arielle every night. The marriage looks solid. The strap-on feels cold. Sarah needs a cock that throbs, and two sales guys have been feeding that hunger on her lunch breaks for weeks. Today Arielle decides to surprise her with a lunch date. She opens the office door and finds Jamie driving into Sarah’s cunt while the second guy waits his turn. The shock hits Arielle like a slap. The guys freeze, stammer apologies. Sarah doesn’t. She grips the desk, pushes back, and tells Arielle she needs this. Arielle sinks into a chair, jaw tight, eyes locked on the scene she never wanted. The men resume pounding. Each thrust drags a wet sound out of Sarah that the strap-on never produced. Arielle edges closer, torn between rage and the heat pooling between her own legs. Then Sarah tells the guys to take her ass. Arielle’s breath catches; Sarah has never given that hole to her. She watches the thick head press, stretch, disappear. Sarah moans louder than Arielle has ever heard. When both men finish across Sarah’s tits and face, they tuck away and leave. Sarah turns to Arielle, legs open, cum sliding down her skin. She asks her wife to come lick her clean. Arielle moves in, still shaking, still staring at the wife she thought she knew.
Sarah Jessie runs HR and goes home to Arielle every night. The marriage looks solid. The strap-on feels cold. Sarah needs a cock that throbs, and two sales guys have been feeding that hunger on her lunch breaks for weeks. Today Arielle decides to surprise her with a lunch date. She opens the office door and finds Jamie driving into Sarah’s cunt while the second guy waits his turn. The shock hits Arielle like a slap. The guys freeze, stammer apologies. Sarah doesn’t. She grips the desk, pushes back, and tells Arielle she needs this. Arielle sinks into a chair, jaw tight, eyes locked on the scene she never wanted. The men resume pounding. Each thrust drags a wet sound out of Sarah that the strap-on never produced. Arielle edges closer, torn between rage and the heat pooling between her own legs. Then Sarah tells the guys to take her ass. Arielle’s breath catches; Sarah has never given that hole to her. She watches the thick head press, stretch, disappear. Sarah moans louder than Arielle has ever heard. When both men finish across Sarah’s tits and face, they tuck away and leave. Sarah turns to Arielle, legs open, cum sliding down her skin. She asks her wife to come lick her clean. Arielle moves in, still shaking, still staring at the wife she thought she knew.