Erica Lauren

Recession's a bitch. Shane Diesel and Boz woke up broke, so they grabbed masks and broke into Erica Lauren's place thinking easy money. Boz nearly flips when he sees her crap furniture—no TV worth hawking, no jewelry hiding in drawers. They're arguing over the bust when she walks in mid-rant. Cops on the tip of her tongue, then she clocks the names. Porn legends, standing in her living room, packing heat. Her eyes drop. That hard stare melts. Turns out Erica's a super-fan, and not above forgiving armed robbery if it comes on two of the biggest dicks in the game. She drops to her knees like she's seen this scene before. Shane and Boz grin, zippers down. Their cocks bounce free, each one so heavy they look weaponized. She goes right to work, licking and slurping like she's starving. Spit runs down her chin while she tries to fit both heads in her mouth, choking just enough to keep them entertained. Shane peels her legs open and buries his face between them until her thighs shake and his stubble's soaked. She's moaning around Boz's cock now, muffled sounds, hips bucking. When they drag her to the couch they go straight to fucking—no warm-up, no courtesy. They take turns pounding that cougar cunt raw, stretching her wide. Every thrust rocks her across the cushions, tits swinging. She's loud as hell, not giving a damn who hears. One nuts across her tongue, the other paints her cheeks, thick ropes dripping from her chin onto the same floor they planned to rob. Erica licks her lips, panting, grinning. Home invaders leave happy. Homeowner too.