She Is Better Than A Soccer Player With Her Feet!

Matt and Porno Dan stand there like dummies, frozen, watches already showing kickoff time. First show-Venera appears, thick-lipped and bouncing, barely under a halter top that’s one shrug away from indecent. Dan mutters something close to a jackpot grunt and Matt, swinging like the eager step-son he is, grins so wide it should hurt. She makes it simple: she’s wet, gates open, line forms to the left. Cute that they still say courtesy before boundaries hit the floor. Matt grabs first pull, burying his face where heat meets cotton candy smell, tongue sloppy for her little hard button. She sprawls back, split wide, knees hooked over his shoulders, hand palming the back of his skull like a basketball. Dan parks beside them, stroking loud, knowing he’s dessert tonight. Matt grunts little praises every time the velvety canal squeezes his shaft, pulling back, pushing in again just to watch lips kiss and cling. Her mouth finds Dan’s tip, but when her hips rock upward faster Matt plants his palms and rides. One thrust, two, three slam harder until she squeals that little desperate yes-song into Dan’s lap. Cum leaks thick between them when he finally empties deep—sticky, creamy overflow painting thighs. Matt leans in and kisses her ankle in thanks, or maybe apology for fucking like a desperate sailor ashore. Just then someone yawns from across the court they skipped, yet none of them notices, not with his thick load still hot and running out of her stretched little cunt.