This Just In

Ariel and Avery sit primped and powdered, legs crossed tight under the news desk. Destiny ducks fast, hides just as the red light flicks on. She ends up eye-level with smooth thighs and the heavy outlines beneath those skirts. Both anchors are already half-hard, cocks pressed sideways against the fabric, trapped and straining like they’re trying to break free. Destiny reaches, palms the bulge in Ariel’s skirt first, feels the twitch, the heat, how the head flares wider than the shaft. She strokes slow at first, measuring the weight, the pulse that jumps when the camera pans. Then her other hand finds Avery—same hardness, heavier maybe, balls already tight against the skirt hem. Avery smirks, opens her stance wider, gives Destiny more room. Ariel’s voice stays cool on air, but her thigh quakes when Destiny licks the underside through cloth, wetting the cotton. No underwear, nothing between tongue and skin. The camera zooms in tight on both faces; Destiny follows the movement, strokes faster now, mouth open, catching pre-cum on her tongue whenever it leaks through. Avery’s cock kicks hard, skirt rides up, exposed tip brushing Destiny’s cheek. Ariel clamps one ankle around Destiny’s wrist, holds her right there, daring her to go further while millions watch. Sweat beads on Avery’s temple. Ariel bites her lower lip mid-sentence. Destiny breathes hot against each throbbing length, alternating slow licks, hungry pressure, silent threat. Every word they deliver is steady; every stroke underneath is anything but. The broadcast rolls on like nothing is happening, but under that desk two cocks are throbbing and one producer is on her knees, cock-drunk, counting seconds till commercial.