Extradition Porn Videos
Extradition: Part Three
Extradition: Part Two
Extradition: Part One
Agent Vandella slams Kat against the cinder-block wall. Nine days since they stuffed her in that trunk. Nine days of nothing but screams echoing through concrete. Sarah already knows the girl will rat them out the second she's breathing free air—cartel doesn't leave witnesses. So Kat offers what she has: her naked body, knees spread, dark nipples stiff from the cold, brown eyes locked on Sarah like a drowning woman gripping driftwood. "I fuck women too," Sarah snarls. Then she stops. Looks at her. Hard. Kat's the one witness who actually fingered Tori on that tape. Solid ID. Names. Dates. Location details that finally cracked this thing open. Sarah palms both tits like she's holding evidence. Weighing it. Kat whispers, "I'll make you forget your own fucking name." Sarah un-cuffs her. The key hits the floor and the room suddenly reeks of sweat, cigarettes, sex. Kat drops to her knees and tongues one heavy breast, then the other, suckling till Sarah's nipples shine. Sarah spins her, folds that round ass open, tongue lashing the tight pink ring while her fingers hook into slick cunt hair and twist. Kat shudders, folds flat onto the concrete, legs jerking. Sarah drags her back by the hips, lines her wet slit against Kat's and grinds, flesh slapping, clit on clit, faster, meaner, until Kat's thighs seize and she sprays hot across Sarah's wrist. Sarah licks the fingers clean, then plants her pussy on Kat's open mouth, riding the tongue in hard circles until she shakes, comes, drips down Kat's chin. Still twitching, she orders the girl up. "Sit. Now." Kat straddles her face and Sarah sucks the swollen clit till the girl floods her tongue, sweet and sudden, bathing both of them. Sarah wipes her mouth. Keys still on the table. Door still locked. One more glance at the clock. Nine days. No extraction yet. She could open the cuffs for good—or make the call.
Agent Vandella slams Kat against the cinder-block wall. Nine days since they stuffed her in that trunk. Nine days of nothing but screams echoing through concrete. Sarah already knows the girl will rat them out the second she's breathing free air—cartel doesn't leave witnesses. So Kat offers what she has: her naked body, knees spread, dark nipples stiff from the cold, brown eyes locked on Sarah like a drowning woman gripping driftwood. "I fuck women too," Sarah snarls. Then she stops. Looks at her. Hard. Kat's the one witness who actually fingered Tori on that tape. Solid ID. Names. Dates. Location details that finally cracked this thing open. Sarah palms both tits like she's holding evidence. Weighing it. Kat whispers, "I'll make you forget your own fucking name." Sarah un-cuffs her. The key hits the floor and the room suddenly reeks of sweat, cigarettes, sex. Kat drops to her knees and tongues one heavy breast, then the other, suckling till Sarah's nipples shine. Sarah spins her, folds that round ass open, tongue lashing the tight pink ring while her fingers hook into slick cunt hair and twist. Kat shudders, folds flat onto the concrete, legs jerking. Sarah drags her back by the hips, lines her wet slit against Kat's and grinds, flesh slapping, clit on clit, faster, meaner, until Kat's thighs seize and she sprays hot across Sarah's wrist. Sarah licks the fingers clean, then plants her pussy on Kat's open mouth, riding the tongue in hard circles until she shakes, comes, drips down Kat's chin. Still twitching, she orders the girl up. "Sit. Now." Kat straddles her face and Sarah sucks the swollen clit till the girl floods her tongue, sweet and sudden, bathing both of them. Sarah wipes her mouth. Keys still on the table. Door still locked. One more glance at the clock. Nine days. No extraction yet. She could open the cuffs for good—or make the call.