Sextra Terrestrials

Two drop-dead foxes calling themselves Megan Rain and Kleio Valentien drag Jacob Vegas onto some cheap motel spaceship that reeks of lube and ozone. They shove a tight black latex catsuit at him and order him to climb in. He listens like a man hypnotized, squeezing into the second-skin until it covers everything but his twitching cock and the greedy hole behind him. The girls close in—naked, horns glowing, pupils blown—and the first greasy finger breaches his ass. He gasps, knees buckling as the suit creaks with every shove of their spit-slick hands. They bend him over the glowing dash, take turns tongue-fucking his freshly exposed crack, then press the fat heads of their strap-ons against the slick ring and push until his voice cracks. One girl reaches around to stroke him through the latex while the other pounds him deep; the slick, meaty sound of flesh slapping flesh echoes off the steel walls. Jacob’s hole gets stretched wider, shiny black flanks quivering, and every filthy thrust reminds him there’s only one rule on this ship: their pleasure first, his surrender always.