Fuck a Fan 3rd Place

Iris and Jennifer take on the camera boy like they’ve been waiting all night. Both mouths on him at once—tongues dragging over his shaft, teeth grazing, lips locking in a wet tug-of-war while they swap spit and glances. They don’t tease. They work him. Iris wraps her lips around the head while Jennifer slides down the base; then they switch, never letting him breathe. His dick stands up hard enough to ache, but his shoulders drop, every muscle giving in to the mess they’re making of him. Fingers curl in their hair. He grits his teeth and gasps when Jennifer takes him deep and Iris sucks at what’s left. The pair keeps the rhythm, sometimes laughing under their breath, wet, urgent sounds filling the frame. When they finally push him past the edge it’s fast and loud—his whole body locks and he spills thick, white streaks across their tongues and the glossy rings around their mouths. They don’t stop until he’s drained and twitching, lips shining, eyes half-shut.