Charlotte Sartre Stuffs Lance Hart's Ass

Charlotte Sartre struts in, black hair falling over her shoulders, body locked tight in a glossy black corset and thigh-high boots. In one hand she carries a thick dildo—nothing small about it—and she’s already aiming it at Lance Hart’s waiting hole. Lance drops to his knees like he’s been starving for it. He takes the fat head between his lips, tongue working fast, spit sliding down the shaft until the silicone shines. Every sloppy bob of his head makes the toy wetter, ready to split him open. Charlotte flips him onto all fours, grabs his hips, and drives the length straight in. Lance’s back arches; he starts moaning the second she starts moving. She doesn’t ease up. Every thrust lands hard, her hips slapping against him, and he keeps begging—louder, dirtier—while she pounds the breath out of him. She rolls him onto his back, spreads those muscled legs wide, and sinks the cock deep again. With one hand she fists his stiff dick, stroking in the same rhythm she’s fucking him. He can’t hold out. His load erupts across his stomach, thick ropes splashing up to his chest while Charlotte keeps pumping his ass through every spurt.