Bobbi Starr: Look But Don't Touch

John Jammin's been around Divine Bitches, but always stayed on the outside looking in. Tonight that changes. Bobbi Starr straps him in tight, arms locked behind his back, then smears whore-red lipstick across his mouth so everyone knows exactly what he's there to do. He starts on his knees, nose buried in her shoes, tongue working every inch of leather and flesh she offers. Simple foot worship isn't enough. She bends him over a sawhorse, wrists and ankles secured, and shoves her strap-on straight up his ass. He grits his teeth; she laughs and keeps thrusting. Clothes pins bite down his balls and shaft. A zipper waits, tension humming across his skin, until she rips it off while she pounds him harder. When Bobbi's finished using his hole, she drops her ass onto his face, smothering him in heat and scent. For one breath she lets him taste her cunt, then slides a bigger cock between his lips and rides his mouth until she comes. John stays bound, forced to watch every slick inch slide past his face, never allowed to touch. The frustration pushes him past the edge—twice—while his hands stay useless and his cock jerks untouched.