Primal Scream

Mya Nichole drops fast. She quits fighting the second James Deen pins her down. His hand clamps her throat while the other rains slaps across her ass, each one shoving her hips forward like she’s nothing but a rag he’s shaking clean. She takes it, breathing in short, broken gasps, eyes glassy, lips parted. He works two fingers in first, then three, spreading her open until her hole gives that wet click, slick and ready. Mya moans, low and hungry, and he answers with his cock—thick, sudden, forcing her open in one long push. She screams when he bottoms out. He doesn’t slow. He fucks her like he owns the space inside her, one palm tight around her neck, the other spanking fresh red prints into her skin. The rhythm breaks when he pulls out, spits on her stretched ring, and sinks his fist up to the wrist. Mya’s whole body jolts; the camera catches the way her rim clings, pale and shiny, before it swallows him again. He works her until she gapes, a dark, twitching circle that pulses each time he eases free. An enema comes next—warm rush, sudden fullness, the sound of water meeting muscle—then he lets it out and dives straight back in, pounding the loosened hole until she sprays another screaming orgasm across the sheets. Somewhere in the middle he drags her face down his shaft, driving past her gag reflex until spit strings from her chin to his balls. She chokes, eyes watering, throat working around him while her wrecked ass stays open behind her, twitching for the next intrusion. James doesn’t let her catch breath; he just lines up and keeps taking what he wants.