Lana Wolf's Hooligan Hazing Part 1

Who gives a fuck about the World Cup when those F-cups are on offer? Lana Wolf stands there in just heels, heavy tits spilling forward like an indecent offer nobody can refuse. Brad Knight and Matt Bird circle her, already stiff. No polite dance—just heat and a job to be done. Lana drops to her knees, grabs both shafts at the base, works them in tight, slick strokes until the skin gleams. Her mouth opens wide around Matt first, tongue pressed flat, sucking him deep enough that her throat flutters. Spit drips from her chin in a shiny thread. She switches to Brad, lips stretched thin, letting the head bump the back of her mouth before she swallows another inch. The men trade glances, half-stunned, half-vicious. They keep passing her between them like the game has rules nobody gave a damn about anymore. Lana comes up for air only long enough to grin, cheeks flushed, then sinks back down and takes them both again, sliding her grip in rhythm with every wet push of her tongue. One cock in her mouth, the other smearing against her cheek, marking her. She squeezes her own breasts together around Matt’s shaft, giving him a warm, slow glide while she sucks Brad deeper, her moan vibrating straight through him. Their breath turns ragged; Brad’s hand grips the back of her skull, not gentle, and Lana opens wider, eyes daring him to push harder. She works the rhythm until the wet sounds fill the room, steady and shameless, and every thrust between her lips takes her closer to choking on it and loving it anyway.