Happy hours with Stella

Stella Delacroix settles onto a barstool and orders another round. The first sip barely settles before three men close in. She turns on the stool, skirt already bunched at her waist, and reaches for the nearest zipper. Blonde hair spills over one shoulder while her heavy tits bounce free, nipples tight from the cool air and hotter attention. A thick cock slides past her painted lips, and she moans around it, the sound low and wet. Behind her, another hand spreads her cheeks and pushes in, slow at first, then deeper, until her ass grips every inch. The third man parts her thighs and sinks into her pussy in one long thrust, the two cocks inside her now rubbing together through thin flesh. Stella rocks between them, spit trailing down her chin, juices running over the base of the cock buried in her cunt. Every thrust knocks a breathy curse from her mouth, the French filth sounding sweet in the low light. When she comes, it hits fast—her thighs shake, a sudden rush of clear liquid splashes the floor, and her ass clamps tight. The men keep driving, pushing deeper, using every hole until the bar smells of sex and spilled liquor.