Protest Robots

Jemma Jansen and Draven Navarro hunt for Colby, hungry for a threesome, but slam into the wrong kind of heat when they kick the door open. There he sits, cock buried in some humming fuck-machine that sucks him like it wants to eat him alive. Colby barely lifts his eyes. "Machine wins," he grunts. "This thing sucks meaner than either of you." Jemma's mouth twists, Draven's fists ball. No way in hell are they letting rubber and wires steal their prize. "Move," Jemma snaps, yanking Colby free with a wet pop. The machine whirrs like it's pissed. Draven shoves it aside, already stripping, cock bouncing free. Jemma drops to her knees, wraps her lips around Colby's slick shaft, tongue working fast, tasting machine lube and raw skin. Draven grabs her hips, drags her ass up, spreads her and drives in, deep and hard, no warning, just thrust after thrust. Colby watches, breathing jagged, then yanks Draven's head down, tongue meeting tongue while Jemma chokes on him. They shift, greedy, rearranging like animals—Draven on his back now, Jemma riding him reverse, Colby pushing into her mouth, then swapping so Draven fucks Colby while Jemma sits on Colby's face. Skin slaps skin, spit and sweat everywhere. Colby curses, hips snapping, Draven grunts, teeth sunk in Jemma's shoulder, and Jemma moans around whatever cock she can reach. The machine sits forgotten, lights still blinking, as the three of them fuck like they own the night and each other's bodies.