Veronica Vixen Destroys Michaels Asshole with a Massive Strapon

Veronica’s got me strapped on—thick, veiny, molded from your own cock so every thrust feels like you’re fucking yourself stupid—and she doesn’t tease. She lines it up, spits on your rim, and slams in deep, no warmup, no mercy, just that fat head popping past your ring with a wet pop that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. She starts bucking hard—long, punishing strokes that bury it to the hilt, her hips slapping against your ass like she’s trying to break you open, each thrust grinding the base right into your swollen rosebud, pulling it out fuller, redder, petals blooming like they’re on fire. And fuck, it feels insane—that stretch burns so good, walls clenching around her like they’re trying to pull her in deeper, every ridge dragging over your prostate until your whole body’s buzzing, electric, like you’ve got lightning coiled in your guts, gloves slick, knuckles punching in slow then fast, twisting, spreading, making your hole gape wide enough to see daylight,