Locker Room Fantasy

Dylan Ryan walked in that day wanting trouble. She flirted hard between sets, hips cocked, sweat shining on her tits, and James Deen finally took the hint. He led her straight into the men’s locker room once the last member left. The second the door shut he had her bent over a bench, shorts yanked to her knees, tongue buried in her ass while she moaned like she’d been waiting weeks. He fucked her rough—raw anal, fingers digging bruises into her hips—until her pussy was dripping down her thighs. Then the door opened again. Four more guys. No words. Just zippers dropping and hard cocks filling every gap around her. Dylan stayed on her knees, blonde hair swinging, mouth stretched around one dick after another while James kept pounding her ass from behind. They passed her around like a toy: one in her throat, one slapping her tits, one waiting his turn between her cheeks. She gagged, drooled, begged for more. The room smelled like sweat and sex and cheap soap. No one spoke. They just used her until every cock had been buried somewhere in her body and she was left shaking, cum running down her legs onto the tile.