Kat Dior Anal

Tommy Pistol doesn't bullshit—he's all about deep bass lines and dirty, wet holes. Especially Kat Dior's. She didn't show up to flirt or tease. She came for a proper anal fucking, the kind that leaves a girl shaky. Kat arched her back hard, ass up, the gem in her plug catching the light. She bounced just enough to make that jewel wink. Tommy shoved his face right between her cheeks and ate like he was starving. Tongue in deep, spit running down her crack. He worked her open—slicked her asshole, soaked her cunt, got her dripping and twitching. She spread wider, hungry little slut, and backed onto his cock when he stood up. He slid into her ass like it was nothing, and she moaned like she'd been waiting weeks. The moment he pulled out she spun around, straddled him, and took him again—pussy this time, wet and hot. Then back to her ass. She didn't stop bouncing, switching holes like it was her goddamn right. She fucked him like she owned him. Fast, then slow. Eyes rolled back, breathing hard. Every time his dick slammed back inside, she took it deeper, ass and cunt both pulsing around him, never once slowing down.