A proud self-identified "throat slut" with self-destructive blowjob skills attempts total sexual martyrdom via co-stars penis. I like this bitch, she's fucking crazy.
It's r/cringetopia levels of situations like this that really make adult filmography great again. If it wasn't for stellar performances like the ones you're about to witness, we would never know what it's like to live in West Virginia without having to marry out cousins first.
Dude looks like he walked into a tattoo parlor and said "yes". Luckily he's hung like a brontosaurus to round out these constructive life decisions. Not sure I was expecting that twist at the end though. Kinda reinforcing the whole don't judge a book by it's cover thing, aren't we?
And by experience, I mean one man blowing up his beer money on the kind of sexual endeavor that would shell shock a Vietnam war veteran. Speaking of blowing up: The only thing missing from that slaughter house between her legs is someone in the background screaming wUrLstAr and Floyd Mayweather coming out of retirement to fight it.
All he's got in life is his balls, his bike, a GoPro and a dream. So ride along with our anonymous protagonist as he cruises through the city visually tea bagging unsuspecting females.
There's only two people on Earth that should never be caught fishing for brown trouts: Lindsay Lohan in her 'i'll snort Tide Pods' phase, and this chick. She's 19, anti-semen and dumber than a mailbox on Sunday. In other words: she was BORN for eFukt.
I'm not sure what kind of a person scripts a pornography scene about a nazi struck by white guilt and letting a "jungle bunny" fuck his racist wife for reparations... but they deserve an award.
After popping a molly (or 5) and getting fucked with a lawn chair, this girl realizes her dreams of being on worldstar are within grasp and totally goes for it. IMHO not worth the lifetime of shame without curly fries and roast beef.
Meet Luciana. aka Timea Bella. aka Indisputable Liar. She claims her stink whistle has less mileage on it than the Peloton in Ozzy Osbourne's basement, yet doesn't even call a timeout when Woody goes straight to the A. But when it comes time to sample some French vanilla, she calls it quits. Stay tuned for part 2 where I'll showcase her triumphant comeback.
He came packing a mullet, social-awkwardness and the bodytype/skintone of a marsh mellow with prescription glasses. But that day back in 1998, he was a God for 10 minutes at a gentleman's club in Arkansas.
