A housewife turned reluctant oral-breeding mount for a roided-up Gutpoker gets to find out the hard way why you have to sign three pages worth of legal documents before she can get her throat re-structured into a fleshlight by an 8'6ft pet-store reject.
Tough luck. You've reached the end of the month and you've come up too short to pay off the debt you owe. Loosen up that jaw as you get forcibly integrated into the Gutpoker Incentivized reimbursement program so you can work off that debt one fat gulp of steaming horsejizz at a time.
Remember to keep up the tempo, you've got a whole queue of pent-up breeding stallions waiting for their turn with your throat.
You lost(won) a bet against your caked-up gamer BF, and as contract would have it, you're officially his personal quickshot gaming chair for a week. Subsisting entirely off the sweat dripping off his fat, doughy, bakery-sized twerkflanks and all the throat-clogging slut-feed pulsing out of his fat dick while he clap-rapes your face.
Should've skipped breakfast. Fine aged ballslop like this sticks to your throat like molasses.
You lost your footing for a second at most, but that's all it took.
Idle slurpjob.
Centered audio of your 7ft, cat-eared, twerkbrute GF bashing her head against your crotch until your lap is a massacre-site of smeared lipstick and frothy ballbatter. Holding onto your thighs for dear life as oil-glazed dumptruck CLAP to the tune of your bloated breeder cock throbbing inside of her neck.
You accidentally stumble upon a video of your girlfriend sucking on some fat chode. Namely, not yours.
Shortstacked Goth decides to ignore the no-smoking sign inside the public restroom.
(Small teaser for upcoming project)
