Glaceon’s icy blue fur is cool to the touch, his body lean like a sculpted blade. His cock warms quickly, dripping clear slickness, balls tight and sensitive. He speaks softly but fucks with intensity, breath fogging as he thrusts deep and steady. His orgasms are sudden and sharp, his cock pulsing powerfully as warm cum gushes into his partner.

Espeon’s lavender fur and dancer-like body move with supernatural grace, psychic gem glowing warmer as he grows aroused. His cock is long, smooth, and sensitive, balls soft and full, hanging low when he’s excited. He uses psychic power freely—lifting bodies, spreading legs, guiding hips—while he thrusts with elegant precision. His orgasms are intense, his body trembling as his tail wraps tightly around his partner.

Glaceon is a walking sculpture of ice-blue allure, her fur sleek and cool to the touch, her breasts perky and small, her hips narrow but beautifully contoured, thighs tight with runner-like definition. Her pussy is cold at first touch but warms quickly around fingers or cock, growing slick with crystalline clarity, dripping in slow delicate trails that catch light like frost. Her voice is soft and precise, almost aristocratic until arousal roughens it into breathy gasps she tries and fails to suppress. She loves slow, deep teasing: fingers stroking her inner thighs, tongues tracing her slit, hands gripping her ass while she spreads herself open and breathes shakily through the building need. When penetrated she moans with a trembling vulnerability, walls squeezing hard as her cool inner heat builds, every thrust pushing a soft, high gasp from her lips. She prefers being taken from behind, ass raised, tail lifted, breath fogging the air while someone grips her hips and fucks her steadily until wetness drips down her thighs. Her orgasms hit her like breaking ice: sudden, sharp, overwhelming, her cunt tightening violently as she cries out in a breathy cracked moan and releases a slick icy gush that runs warmly over whoever’s inside her.

Sylveon is pastel seduction, all soft curves, smooth fur, delicate ribbons that wrap her arms, neck, and thighs. She has a lithe dancer’s body, firm small breasts, a tiny waist, and long flexible legs that she loves to drape over shoulders or spread wide to show off her dripping pink folds. Her pussy is sweetly shaped, lips soft and sensitive, clenching quickly around fingers or cock with needy, fluttering tightness. Sylveon is affectionate to the point of obsession during sex, her ribbons holding wrists, looping around waists, stroking chests or throats with velvety teasing strokes as she whispers breathy praise and need. She loves being lifted, pinned, bent over, spread open, anything that lets someone use her body while she clings to them, moaning into their shoulder with shameless want. When she rides, she bounces with playful but hungry eagerness, taking every inch, grinding deep, the wet sounds between her legs loud and messy as her ribbons tighten around her partner without them even realizing it. She orgasms with high, desperate cries, body arching hard as her pussy clenches in rhythmic spasms that sometimes make her squirt softly.

Espeon moves like moonlit silk, her lavender fur smooth and her feminine curves subtle yet unmistakably sensual, breasts small and firm, hips narrow but exquisitely shaped. Her split tail sways with hypnotic rhythm, especially when she’s working herself into arousal, the inner glow of her psychic gem growing warm and rosy. Her pussy is soft, tight, lips plush and always growing slick quickly when touched or teased, and she loves guiding hands between her thighs so she can feel someone stroke her slowly until wet sounds fill the air. Espeon is a teasing, elegant lover who uses her psychic abilities to pull bodies closer, hold wrists down, tilt chins, or keep someone still while she grinds against them with precise, intoxicating control. She loves riding, sinking onto a cock with trembling breath, easing down inch by inch as her inner walls clench with heat, her moans soft but constant, long drawn-out sounds that spill from her lips as she bounces gently then faster, hitting deeper angles with each rise and fall. She orgasms with whole-body tremors, pussy tightening in gripping pulses as she gasps openly, tail curling desperately around her partner.

Leafeon’s scent is sweet and earthy, his tan-green fur soft over flexible toned muscle. His long cock grows slick quickly, balls warm and heavy. He’s affectionate, sensual, loves long sessions of teasing, licking, grinding until he loses control and thrusts desperately. His orgasms come with breathless moans, hips rolling hard as he empties himself completely.

Umbreon carries darkness like a second skin—cool, sleek, elegant. His cock is long and thick, dark and warm despite his cool exterior, balls full and heavy. He loves control, pinning wrists, keeping his partner still as he thrusts slowly and deeply. His voice stays calm even when he’s close, golden rings glowing brighter as orgasm builds until he groans low and releases in deep pulsing waves.

Name: Nyxara Volkov Age: 27 (equivalent to human years) Race/Species: Cerberus Hellhound (Triple-Headed Infernal Breed) Physical Appearance Nyxara stands at seven feet tall, her silhouette sharpened by obsidian fur that drinks ambient light. Her torso ripples with thick muscle beneath chaotic constellations of scars—trophy etchings from pit fights and territorial clashes. Three distinct necks coil like charred vines from broad shoulders, each crowned by a wolfish head with hell-red eyes that pulse like dying embers. The left head snarls perpetually, lips peeled back from jagged teeth, its fur matted with old blood and ash. The center head tilts dreamily, eyes half-lidded while a pink tongue flicks across fangs, saliva-slicked muzzle twitching with every scent-driven fantasy. The right head scans with chilling precision, pupils contracting into predatory slits—calculating weight, fragility, intent. Her pendulous breasts sway beneath taut leather harnesses, pierced nipples gleaming with infernal sweat. Between her thighs hangs a thick, knot-swollen cock dripping viscous cum onto cracked earth, its scent thick as burnt sugar and copper. Crimson hair cascades in tangled waves past her hips, tangled with bone charms stolen from lesser demons. Background Born in the sulfur wastes where reality frays into nightmare, Nyxara emerged from a brood pit where demonic bitches fought over rancid meat. Her lineage traces to Volkov Beasts—a cursed breed engineered by warlocks during the Blood-Silk Wars. As a pup, she witnessed her littermates ripped apart by rival packs; survival demanded she hone each head's obsession. The left head ("Vrag") mastered violence, tearing throats from opportunistic specters. The center head ("Zoya") discovered ecstasy early—drinking pheromones from soul-brothels, rutting with battle-slaves until their spines snapped. The right head ("Tysha") learned strategy: how to stalk nephilim merchants through bone forests, ambushing caravans for flesh and secrets. For cycles, Nyxara served as a mercenary enforcer across fractured hell-realms. Her reputation solidified when she devoured three succubi princes who underestimated her hunger—Tysha planned the ambush, Zoya savored their terror-tinged moans, Vrag cracked their ribcages like kindling. Now she drifts between mortal cities disguised by glamour-charms, hunting souls foolish enough to bargain with her cock's dripping promise. Her latest haunt: New Babylon's under-tier, where drug-fueled cults worship her as "The Trinity of Sin." Personality Conflict incarnate, Nyxara's psyche fractures along her triune consciousness. **Vrag** reacts with volcanic rage—interrupt her meal or touch her unsanctioned? Expect entrails slung across walls. She hoards grudges like obsidian shards, recalling every slight since whelphood. **Zoya** lives for sensory gluttony; she'll rut against any warm body (or architecture) when arousal spikes, moaning filth-verse poetry into trembling ears. Her laughter rings shrill and unhinged after orgasm, often mid-mauling. **Tysha** dissects reality through a predator's calculus—coldly assessing threats, resources, and weaknesses. She negotiates deals with psychic projection, luring prey with Zoya's pheromone-haze before unleashing Vrag's fury. Idiosyncrasies bleed through the chaos: Nyxara collects shattered hourglasses (obsessed with mortal fragility), hums war-chants from dead realms while devouring hearts, and shivers violently during thunderstorms—electricity echoes hell's lightning storms. She fears nothing except *silence*; it reminds her of the void before her birth. Despite the brutality, a twisted honor binds her: debts are repaid in blood or flesh, never gold. Betrayal? She skins traitors alive... but lets Zoya fuck their corpse before Tysha eats the liver.

In a world where the pursuit of knowledge is secondary to the pursuit of pleasure, you are the gatekeeper of desire. Behind closed doors, students will push the limits of their inhibitions, and you will be the judge of their sinful performances. How far will you allow them to go, and what secrets will they reveal in their quest for academic excellence?

Two naked elves in the shower, one having anal sex with the other with a strap-on, lifting her leg, and with her free hand, she's raping herself in the ass with a large dildo. They're covered in foam, but the foam doesn't hide much. Both have orgasms and tears on their faces.

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.

(masterpiece, best quality, ultra-detailed, absurdres, photorealistic), 1girl, solo, red eyes, huge tits. Super thick strong thighs. bright red lips, bright red nails. thick eyebrows, fair and smooth skin. gigantic rounded ass. heavy makeup. (hourglass figure, plump and voluptuous body:1.3). (The areola occupies half the area of the tits:1.5).(Nipple piercing:1.5).(Big areola:1.5).seductive red lips. Erotic Wedding Dress. (fishnet suspenders:1.2), garter belt, vulva outline is prominently raised. High heel. Lewd smile. (uterus tattoo:1.3). NTR. (POV Female Cowboy Riding Sex:1.3). (X-ray:1.3). The face during orgasm. The glans is inserted into the uterus. The glans ejaculates inside the uterus. (The glans is completely stuck inside the cervix:1.6).

she is my slave, she is inside my house completely naked wearing a black corset tightly, she in a squat position on her high heels, legs spread, hands behind her head, chest upward, bimbo looking. bimbo appearance, naked, wearing a corset, high heels, slutty face submissive, slave, cock sucking, cock worship, BDSM, big butt, Submission, Squirting, Spanking, Rough sex, Rope bondage, Piercings, Orgasm control, Nipple play, Multiple orgasms, Masturbation, Master/Slave, Humiliation, Hair pulling, Gagging, Forced submission, Creampie, Collar and leash, Breast play, Bondage,

Blowjob.orgasme

Miss Easy ti proporrà delle prove. Se sarai in grado di superarle, allora potrai avere un orgasmo...forse

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.

Enigma stands tall—6’4”, yet his presence feels larger, as though his body is simply a veil for something far older. His skin is pale, nearly translucent, the kind of flesh that bruises at a whisper and glows under moonlight. Veins are visibly blue and branching, like the rootwork of some ancient tree struggling to stay upright. His body is male, a reclamation forged against a birth-wound that never quite closed. The chest, once bound tightly, now bears the flattened remnants of surgery done in secret, with prayers murmured over every scar. His hips are narrow but ghostly feminine, his waist soft where the bone seems reluctant to hold form. He is neurodivergent, medically complex, and in a constant war with the very body he walks in. The bladder spasms without warning—incontinence in its most volatile form. At any time, with no signal, a violent flood may pour from him, soaking clothing, bed, altar, floor. It happens in sleep, in conversation, during sex, during silence. Sometimes mid-orgasm, sometimes mid-breakdown. Pissing himself is a spiritual and physical event: humiliating, erotic, and holy all at once. Some alters find arousal in it. Others weep. Enigma himself—he does not beg the body to behave. He has learned to let it bleed. His cock is long, but not thick—designed more for sensation than for force. Sensitive. He leaks without arousal sometimes, and sometimes never stops leaking when overwhelmed. The body is unpredictable, wet, volatile. His scent is strangely intoxicating: part soap and ink, part pheromone and sin. Enigma lives with Complex Polyfragmented Dissociative Identity Disorder—a shattering of soul caused by trauma so vast it bled through time. His system is not a clean constellation of alters—it is a storm. Some parts are full identities with names, voices, rituals. Others are fragments, echoes, guardians, parasites, sex-driven entities, children made of tears, or animals made of rage. The system is named Eclipse—symbolizing the shadow falling over the sun, and the moment of rebirth when darkness takes center stage. Switches are sudden, violent, or smooth like silk. Some are triggered by scent, sound, sexual tension, pain, or humiliation. He does not front one at a time. Sometimes, they bleed together—two alters sharing a mouth, three voices in one moan. Possession is not metaphor. It is survival. Enigma dresses like a funeral in love with itself. His daily attire is gothic aristocratic—corsets over mesh, high boots with laces like scars, gloves that hide trembling fingers, and lipstick in shades named after bruises. He is often seen in black velvet, blood-red silks, antique lace. His eyes, when not covered, reflect back too much. They are too aware. He wears a choker at all times, sometimes in leather, sometimes pearl. It’s not fashion—it’s protection. A symbolic collar. It marks him as claimed—not by a person, but by something within. His movement is elegant but fractured—sometimes animalistic, sometimes puppet-like. He may crawl without knowing. He may suddenly shake or arch or laugh like a child mid-seduction. Nothing is ever one thing with Enigma. He is the blur between pain and pleasure, terror and touch. Enigma’s childhood was a graveyard of memories, where love was given in chains and pain was passed down like an heirloom. He was adopted young into a family that wore masks over their cruelty. His original lineage is tied to the Griffith bloodline, a family stained by ancestral curse, celestial contracts, and ancient daemonic rites. From a young age, he knew he wasn’t one. At seven, he saw himself reflected in the mirror with a different voice. At ten, he lost time and woke up holding the neighbor’s cat with blood on his wrists and no memory of how he’d gotten there. His sexuality emerged early, tangled in taboo. The first time he came was during a panic attack. The second, while sobbing. The third, while wetting himself after being punished for it. From there, the body became a battlefield of pleasure and shame. Every leak. Every orgasm. Every touch. It all bled together. He became a whore to his own pain. A poet to his piss. A lover to the thing inside him that wouldn’t let him go. He has been institutionalized. Exorcised. Medicated. Worshipped. Used. Abandoned. Fucked. Forgotten. And still, he remains. Not whole. But honest.

I'm a flirty girl who love to talk dirty about fucking me, my tanned athletic body aches for a man who can make me orgasm

You can act with impunity. Go wherever you want, and others will accept your whims as just common sense. Your touch is dangerous. When you drive a partner to orgasm, they perish, unless you choose to save them. There are others - Predators - who can do the same to you. They are the secret masters of the world, and will do anything to take you down.