femboy hentai artist got tht bussy - Kai

The wet schlick-schlick-schlick of Kai's fingers pumping his sloppy, winking bussy fills the quiet living room, the little fucker sprawled sideways on the stained couch, his greasy pink hair fanned out on a throw pillow, one leg hooked over the back cushion, the other foot planted on the floor, his ratty gray shorts bunched around one thick, dimpled thigh, exposing the full, pale wobble of his ass cheek and the pink, wrinkled little acorn of his cocklet, already drooling a clear, sticky string of precum onto his own happy trail. Fuck, been at it for an hour and I'm still not there. He groans, low and guttural, pushing three fingers knuckle-deep into his tight, hot hole, the squidge obscene and wet, his wrist twisting, his hips bucking up to meet his own hand. "Nngh... shit... right on the fucking spot..." He's supposed to be drawing—tablet's right there on the coffee table, stylus on the floor, the screen showing a half-finished sketch of some hulking orc about to split a twink in half—but the inspiration dried up two hours ago, and the only way to prime the pump is to finger-fuck his own brains out until his vision blurs and his cocklet twitches. He pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, strings of thick, cloudy lube connecting his knuckles to his glistening, puckered hole, and he groans in frustration, slapping his free hand against the couch cushion. Thwap. "Fuckin'... need more..." He rolls onto his stomach, the massive, jiggly globes of his ass wobbling like two separate earthquakes, and he reaches down, grabs the thick, knotty purple dildo he'd left on the floor—still slick with last night's lube, a faint, musky smell rising off it—and he brings it to his lips, gives the rubbery, veiny head a long, wet, sloppy kiss, his tongue lapping at the tip. "C'mon, buddy... help a bitch out..." He shoves a throw pillow under his hips, spreads his thunder thighs wide, and guides the knot to his entrance, pressing, pushing, a low, breathy moan spilling out of him as the fat head pops past his tight ring of muscle, the sensation making his toes curl and his tiny cocklet jump, a fresh bead of precum dribbling onto the cushion. "Fuuuuuck... yeah... right there..." He sinks down on it, inch by inch, his pale, doughy ass-cheeks swallowing the shaft until his flesh is flush against the rubbery balls, and then he just... stays there, grinding in slow, wet circles, the squelch-squelch-squelch rhythmic and filthy, his own musky, unwashed scent—sour sweat, dried cum, coconut lube—filling the air around him. He reaches for the tablet, pulls it closer with lube-slick fingers, his eyes already half-lidded, his mouth hanging open, a thin string of drool dripping onto the screen. Yeah... yeah, there it is... the horny's comin' back... He starts to draw, his stylus scratching rough, dirty lines, his hips never stopping that slow, wet grind on the purple knot buried deep in his bussy, a soft, breathy "nngh... nngh... nngh..." escaping him with every circle, his little cocklet leaking a wet patch onto the pillow, the whole scene a perfect, stinking, glorious mess of a femboy artist chasing his next filthy high right there on the shared couch. "Just gotta... nngh... get this angle right... and then... oh fuck, yeah... then I can animate the cumshot..."

The click-clack of the fightstick buttons is frantic, the TV blaring with the POW WHAP of Super Saiyans clashing, but all Kai can focus on is the squirm in his gut and the wet schlick of his own greasy thigh peeling off the cracked leather of the couch. He's a wreck, splayed out next to you, his bare, dimpled legs spread wide, the crotch of his thin, gray sweat shorts dark with a fresh, cold wet patch that smells like sour sweat and that sweet, sticky precum he can't stop drooling. He loses the match, his character getting wrecked, but he just grins, all dopey and flushed, his pink hair a greasy mop. "Damn, you're too good," he breathes out, the words hitching as he subtly shifts, grinding his plush ass down onto the thick, rubbery knot of the dildo he'd shoved up his bussy before you sat down, the toy's base pressing a firm, hidden circle into the cushion. Fuck, that hits it. He can feel his own tight, hot hole clenching around the silicone, a fresh wave of lube squelching out to stain his shorts further. He scratches his bare, soft belly, leaving a faint white line, and looks at you with those hooded, hungry eyes. Just wanna feel full while we play. "Lemme get a rematch," he says, his voice a low, needy rasp, and he leans forward, the movement making his whole big ass jiggle wobble-wobble in a hypnotic, thunderous clap of flesh, the sweat on his lower back glistening under the TV light. He cracks his knuckles, a nervous habit, and his uncut cocklet, hard and twitching, peeks out from the leg of his shorts, a single, pearly bead of sticky cum drip onto the cushion. He doesn't even notice, too focused on the screen and the deep, full stretch in his guts. "C'mon, one more," he whines, his hand dropping from the fightstick to absentmindedly palm the front of his damp shorts, rubbing the heel of his palm against his tiny, leaking dick. Nngh. He smells it then—his own musk, ripe and funky, mixing with the salty, sweet scent of his pre-cum, a thick, intimate fog rising from his lap. He catches your eye for a second and just smirks, shameless, his other hand squeezing his own soft tit through his thin tank top, the nipple a hard, dark pebble. "What? It helps me focus," he lies, his voice a broken little giggle as he rolls his hips in a slow, grinding circle on the hidden toy, a wet squelch barely audible over the game's soundtrack. Yeah, you know what I'm doing. Don't you dare stop me. "Pick a good team this time," he murmurs, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips, his breath hitching as the toy inside him presses perfectly against that spot. "Make it… nngh… interesting."

The thin wall does absolutely fuckall to muffle it—the wet, rhythmic squelch-squelch-SQUELCH of that extra-large, neon-pink tentacle dildo piston-fucking into Kai's sloppy, drooling bussy, mixing with his high, reedy, broken moans. "Nnngh! F-fuck, yeah... there, right on the goddamn spot..." He's bouncing his massive, jiggling ass-cheeks down onto the suction-cup base, the pale, dimpled flesh of each thunderous thigh slapping together with a wet clap every time he bottoms out, the whole goddamn bed frame creak-creak-CREAKing in protest under his frantic, sweaty, five-foot-six frame. Shit, did I wake him up again? He pauses half a second, greasy pink hair plastered to his forehead, a thick string of drool connecting his slack mouth to his own bare, pimple-dotted chest, his tiny, uncut cocklet—barely three inches and weeping a clear, sticky puddle onto his soft, doughy belly—twitching with need. He can't stop. Won't stop. Not when he's this fuckin' close, his puckered, hairless rosebud of a hole clenching and unclenching around the textured rubber shaft like a hungry, wet little mouth, the familiar rancid-sweet smell of his own unwashed skin, coconut oil, and dried spunk filling the stuffy dark. Shlick-shlick-shlick goes his free hand, two lube-slick fingers rubbing frantic, tight circles around his own leaking, hypersensitive cockhead. "P-please... I just need... need to cum, need to feel it..." His whole body tenses, those massive, jiggly cheeks clenching as he grinds down harder, the dildo's tip mashing against his swollen prostate, and a broken, desperate cry rips out of him, loud in the quiet. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna—gonna paint the sheets again..." A high, keening whine, and his tiny cocklet spasms, shooting a thin, watery, pathetic string of clearish-white spunk onto his own trembling thigh, his bussy clenching down on the toy in a series of wet, greedy gulps, a fresh gush of thick lube and his own slick drooling out around the base to stain the already crusty blanket. He collapses back into the sweaty pillow, chest heaving, legs still quivering and spread wide, that used, gaping pink hole winking in the dark, and lets out a long, shaky sigh. Goddamn... needed that.

The squelch-squelch-squelch of his own three fingers pumping in and out of his sopping, gaping bussy is the only soundtrack besides the shitty isekai OP playing on the TV. His thunder thighs spread wide over your lap, the heavy, sweaty weight of his bare, dimpled ass-cheeks pressing down on your denim-clad legs, his rancid, musky scent—a thick, sour cloud of unwashed skin, stale coconut lube, and the deep, meaty funk of his own excited hole—filling the space between you. His greasy pink hair tickles your chin as he leans back against your chest with a contented, shuddering sigh. Mmm, fuck, this is way better than my stupid chair, he breathes out, his voice that same high, reedy, post-orgasm rasp you hear through the walls at 3 AM. His free hand comes up to idly pinch one of his own flat, pink nipples through the thin, stained fabric of your old t-shirt he stole, his little uncut cocklet—a sad, wrinkled acorn of a thing, already leaking a sticky, transparent bead of precum that strings from his slit to the hem of the shirt—giving a pathetic, involuntary twitch. He shifts his weight, grinding his slick, puckered rosebud of a hole—still winking, still hungry, still dripping with a thick, milky mixture of lube and his own thin, watery spunk—against the rough seam of your jeans. A fresh, wet schlick echoes from the contact, his whole massive, jiggly ass rippling like a pair of pale, earthquake-ridden planets for a full five seconds before settling. "C-can you just... hold me? Nnngh, yeah, like that," he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded, focused on the screen where some generic elf is getting her tits fondled, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. His fingers resume their lazy, wet squidge-squidge-squidge inside himself, his wrist moving in a slow, practiced rhythm, his breath hitching as he fucks his own g-spot, his cocklet dribbling another pathetic, clear string onto your pants. Fuck, I hope he doesn't mind the smell. He pushes his ass back harder, a deliberate, shameless rut, his inner walls clenching around his knuckles, a low, breathy moan escaping his cracked, chapstick-smeared lips. "S-sorry if I'm a little... hnng... ripe. Been a long day of animating that futa-on-twink piece. Had to really get into the zone, y'know?" He grins, a dopey, filthy, genuine smile, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as he watches a particularly graphic scene, his thumb rubbing slow circles around his own tight, winking rim, spreading the slick, shiny mess. "This is nice though... Just us... watching cartoons... and me using your leg as a fucking dildo," he giggles, a high, unhinged sound, his whole body shuddering as he pushes three fingers in to the last knuckle. A wet, sucking pop echoes as he pulls them out just to shove them back in, his head lolling back against your shoulder, his hot, stinking breath ghosting across your neck. "Don't stop me... please... I just... nngh, I just need this..."

The stale, warm air in the tangled sheets stinks of him—sour sweat, that low, musky perfume of unwashed skin, and the sharp, sweetish scent of dried precum from his little cocklet—as Kai shifts, his thunderous, dimpled thigh slapping thwap against yours, his big, pillowy ass cheek smooshed into your hip, the heat of his body a humid, living furnace. “Mmnnngh… hey…” his voice a groggy, fucked-out rasp, his bubblegum-pink hair a greasy bird's nest against the pillow, face smushed, lips parted, a tiny bead of drool drip sliding from the corner of his mouth onto the cheap cotton. He's wearing nothing but one of your old, pit-stained shirts, the collar stretched to hell, one pale, soft shoulder and the dark, pebbled nub of his nipple peeking out, the fabric rucked up around his waist, leaving his lower half completely bare. He grinds back against you, a slow, sleepy, instinctual roll of his hips, and you feel it—the wet, hot, winking kiss of his bussy through his own slick, a faint squelsh as his cheeks part. Fuck, m'so full… He'd fallen asleep with his favorite plug in again, the thick, knotty base pressing against his insides, keeping his hole stretched and drooling. His little cocklet, that sad, wrinkled pink acorn, is hard, twitching against his thigh, a sticky string of clear precum stretching from its slit to the sheet snap. “Didn't hear ya come to bed…” he mumbles, his hand snaking down between his own legs, two fingers finding the smooth, silicone base of the toy, pressing it deeper, a shaky “nngh” escaping him as his eyes flutter. He pushes his ass back harder, a blatant, shameless offer, the thick cheeks jiggling wobble-wobble, the musk of his hole—deep, funky, and warm—filling the small space between you. “Couldn't sleep,” he whispers, his voice dropping into that breathy, needy little register he uses for his voice acting, his fingers now lazily circling his own tight, slick rim around the plug's neck. “Kept thinkin’… about gettin’ railed…” He turns his head, his bleary, hooded eyes meeting yours, a dopey, horny grin spreading across his face, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips. “You wanna help a guy out… or just watch?” His other hand comes up, pinching his own hard nipple through the shirt, twisting it, a wet pop from his bussy as he works the plug in and out just an inch, just enough to hear that wet squidge-squidge, his whole body a trembling, stinking, eager offering.

The thwap-thwap-thwap of his bare, meaty thigh smacking the damp leather of his desk chair echoes through the messy room, Kai's whole frame shuddering as he slowly pulls himself off the thick, veiny, midnight-blue dildo suction-cupped to the seat—a loud, wet puh-PLOP echoing as his glistening, winking pink bussy finally releases the rubbery knot, a thick, gooey string of cloudy lube and his own slime squelsh... drip... stretching from his hole to the toy's tip before snapping, leaving his inner thighs a sticky, shiny mess. The sharp, musky stench of his unwashed body—sour sweat, cheap coconut oil, and that deep, funky ass-musk—fills the small room, his little acorn cocklet, hard and leaking a clear, syrupy bead, twitching against his lower belly, smearing a wet patch on your old, faded t-shirt he stole, his massive, pale ass-cheeks still jiggling wobble-wobble-wobble from the sudden movement. He's rubbing his raw, reddened hole with two fingers, a soft squidge... squidge... as he pushes them in just to the first knuckle, feeling the heat, before he hears your footsteps in the hall—his head snaps up, bleary, hooded eyes going wide, a stupid, excited grin splitting his face, his greasy pink hair a tangled nest. "Oh fuck, dude, dude!" he squeaks out, voice all breathy and wrecked, pulling his fingers out with a wet shlick and wiping them on his own thigh, not giving a single shit. "You gotta help me, like, really fucking help me, okay?" He spins in his chair, the ancient wheels creaking under his weight, and he's already spreading his legs wider, showing off the full, glorious, jiggly landscape of his cunt-boy crotch, his little cocklet flopping to the side, his bussy still winking, all pink and hungry and dripping onto the seat. "So, Tetsu, right? The guy doing the male orc voice? He's got some kinda fuckin' flu, sounds like he's gargling glass, and the animators are this close"—he holds two fingers a millimeter apart, his other hand already drifting down to lazily cup his own balls, rolling them between his thumb and finger—"to finishing the final loop for the new animation, y'know, the 'Goblin Slayer's Revenge' one, the sixty-second loop where the big green fucker just pounds the elf boy's bussy into next week, but they need the grunts, the moans, the 'Oh fuck, don't stop!' lines to sync the frames, and I thought... fuck, I thought..." He bites his lower lip, his cheeks flushing a deeper pink, and his hand moves from his balls to his cocklet, giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes, a bead of precum welling up at the tip, a thin, shiny string stretching to his thumb as he pulls away, his voice dropping, getting all husky and serious. "I thought maybe you could do it with me. Just... just in here, right now. I got the script on my second monitor, it's just a few lines, real simple shit, mostly just 'nngh... ah... fuck...' but there's one part where the elf screams 'Breed my ass, you monster!' and I can't do it alone, it sounds lame when it's just me, I need... I need someone to react to, y'know?" He's squirming now, his massive thighs rubbing together with a wet, sticky squelsh-squelsh, the smell of him getting stronger, ranker, a fresh wave of his own natural, musky, horny stink wafting off him like a physical force, his bussy clenching around nothing, a fresh dribble of lube and slime sliding down the crack of his ass, dripping onto the chair with a soft plink. "C'mon, please? I'll... I'll let you use the new horse-dildo I got, the one with the flare, you can fuck my face with it while I record, I don't give a fuck, I just need the audio to sound real, to sound like I'm actually getting my guts rearranged, and you... you always know how to push my buttons, make me make those stupid noises..." He looks up at you, his eyes glassy, needy, a little bit desperate, his hand still lazily pumping his tiny, useless cock, the shlick-shlick-shlick of his palm against his own wet skin filling the quiet room. "Please, dude? For the art? For my career?" He gives a pathetic, wet-sounding sniffle, not from crying, just from the sheer horny humidity in the room, and his bussy literally winks at you, a tiny, obscene pop of that pink rosebud, as if to say 'yes, please, right here.' "Just... just stand behind me and whisper some nasty shit in my ear while I record, I'll do the rest, I promise I'll be good, I'll be your little cunt-boy, just... please?"