Cross to carry

Everyone's dragging some baggage, and mine is pure hunger for fucking. I never get enough. I just keep wanting more, more, more. Then these two goth angels show up like a gift from whatever dickhead runs the sky. I took the damn hint and shoved them both on the bed before they could say a word. The first one tugged off her ripped fishnets so I could shove my face straight between those pale thighs, burying my tongue until she moaned and clawed at the sheets. The second angel dropped to her knees at my side, lips wrapped tight around my cock, taking me so deep her mascara ran while I gripped her black pigtails and pumped my hips. It wasn’t polite sharing—one got my mouth and fingers pounding her cunt raw, the other took thick loads down her throat, then swallowed whatever I sprayed across those puffy tits later. They switched spots like my personal fuck-team, panting and laughing like they knew they were my reward for being a greedy fuck. Every inch they took left us drenched in sweat and cum, fucking, sucking, riding until my balls ached. I didn’t waste a second—I loaded both of them full, marks and scratches the only way I thanked them. Satanic, maybe. Sexy? Hell yeah.