Queens of The Strap On

She straps the harness on like she’s buckling armor for war. Thick silicone juts out between her thighs, heavy and obscene, already glistening from her spit. Her girl is on her back, knees folded to her chest, cunt spread open and pulsing. The toy nudges the slick entrance, then sinks in one slow push until her labia stretch and swallow every inch. A sharp gasp cuts through the room. A second girl watches from the corner of the bed, fingers working lazy circles over her own clit while lube runs down her wrist. She rolls onto her stomach, lifts her ass, and reaches back to pry herself wider. The second strap-on finds her without mercy. Two straps now thudding in rhythm, plastic balls smacking wet skin, holes taking it until juice runs in thin strings down the sheets. Someone fists a smaller dildo into a third girl’s mouth and pushes until her throat clenches. Spit pours down her chin. Another girl climbs on, rides the shaft still slick with the last girl’s come, grinds until her thighs shake and fresh cream coats the rubber. The sheets grow darker, wetter, plastered to skin. Every hole stays open, greedy, stuffed. Pussy juice spreads in slick puddles beneath them until the mattress can’t hold any more and the room smells like heat and salt and soaked cotton.