Amy Brooke

You don't go to a butcher when you want prime steak—you go where the real meat hangs. My boyfriend's limp excuse for a cock couldn't pleasure a flea, so his only job was finding me a bull with enough weight to finally break me open. He dragged his feet the whole way, the pathetic little bitch, but he came through with Wesley: tall, dark, and swinging a fat black dick that made my mouth water. Back at our place I snapped the chastity cage on my man so he'd stay soft and useless for every filthy second. A few choice words, then I dropped to my knees and swallowed Wesley like my life depended on it—thick veins throbbing against my tongue, his heavy balls tapping my chin until my head pounded. Once my throat was wrecked, that black slab had one target left: my tight little holes. I shoved my cuck’s face between my cheeks and told him to spread me wide so Wes could sink in balls-deep. The first thrust punched a scream out of me that left the sissy’s ears ringing. He held me open while that thick cock pumped my pussy then my ass, stretching both until I shook like a ragdoll. When Wes finally unloaded, hot ropes painted my petite ass white. Only one clean-up boy for the job—on his knees, tongue out, licking every drop while the cage kept his useless clit locked and dripping.