BiPhoria – Lucky Delivery Guy Seduced By Horny Married Couple

The aptly named “Lucky Delivery Guy” finds himself on the receiving end of more than just his paycheck today. This scrumptious threesome starts with a buzz at the door, and soon escalates to an erotically charged bisexual encounter between a stunning Latina couple and their hapless, cock-shocked parcel courier.

Claire andDillon Diaz are married, but their relationship isn’t constricted by traditional monogamy. Claire secretly dreams of indulging in the delights of a cocked scissor with another woman, and Dillon’s bi-curious nature pines to experience the thrill of celebratory cock-smacking, gay on his terms, without compromising his straight street cred.

In the early throes of their relationship, when honesty and orgasmically depraved sex reigned supreme, Claire and Dillon agreed that if the opportunity to fulfill their dual desires presented itself, they would undeniably reciprocate the naughty fantasy that organizes this afternoon delivery hook-up.

Today’s special drops on the mat in the form of Mares, a cock starved, sexy, tatted-up Latin guy eager to flaunt his bulge. Claire and Mares collide at the threshold of their home, she all hair-tossing, giggling mischief and sexual charisma. Mares is not resistant to her charms, popping a stiffy that disappears into her luscious mouth, on the very threshold, belying any concern for neighborhood decorum.

Dillon protects himself, foreshadowing his impending deflowering of male ass, infiltrating the pearly gates of Claire’s knickers instead, burying his face between her theatrical, wide-legged lindy dance pose.

The new Emperor has no clothes, as Claire and Mares strip him of his impractical boxers, freeing his conquering, gunmetal cock and ball, the perfect conquest weight of white gold pendants – testament to the power of Dillon’s dick, to negotiate his way out of any tricky three-way encounter .

This quadrupedal mammalian display of frivolous public intercourse escalates to stingray-like positions inside the house, all apart and entwined, a tangle of tongue and testicle, throbbing and thawing, on the cold living room floor.

Claire and Mares, two doe-eyed Lotharios, down each end of this olagligi, tossing meat stalks between their hungry gums like a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, territorial cock-conflicts forgotten, all is love and carnivorous appetite in this den of sexiled destiny. Nothing is left on the bone, licking it clean of remorseful leavings.

Dillon, the good, bi-curious soldier, takes one for the team, as Claire uses her marital privilege to gently initiate him into the ways of the groovy pink slip road. And what initiation it is, a slow, slutty, slobbered crawl, a double suction bowl of hot, slurping, wanton cock worship from wifey and paramour.

Mares, measuring up delicately between his gleaming pistol, announces with a mischievous, lustful grin, ‘I want to make you cum,’ meant as much for his sissy-posed pal as his bitchy, braided blowjob wife, his deep voice the gravelly, dirty metronome that counts out each beat.

The bedroom, a den of swirling slick sheets, is Claired and consummated. Her glistening, slippery slit, the altar on which the good, tatted-up flesh of Mares and wifey’s virtuous tits kneel. Two damp pussies, hot with sexual reverence, both equally frantic to be the prow of this uncharted penis.

Dillon, as he comes the nova of a nuclear gloryhole, the thundering of each muscle and nerve in his body resets with the infinitesimal whir of a tape firing bulb, lights up the night sky and the cheering faces of wife and lover, seaworthies who weather each noticeably strong stroke of his cock-cannon with salty sexual impact.

But this is no roman candle, soon to go out, as the creaming of Mares’ cock in Claire’s pretty rosebud, the sacrifice of a bi-lion’s tale of perfect sexual reassurance, soothes an empowered, unselfconscious Michaelangelo as he paints his boldest brushstrokes, the canvas of Mares’ muscular back, his $20 bill-like camouflage, the subject of his masterpiece, both cock and cunt.

Mares, milked and kissing, is the angelic, toothy child of a God and proud parent, to reassure and conquer the sexual nervous systems of wife and husband, as each cord and electric filament recalibrate and reset the battery acid with the memory-eraser, the encompassment of dope, thick lady-cream and slipperiness paths of cock snot between your fingers.

The credit belongs to the reward of the honeymoon, the luxury of the accomplished fuck and returned hunger, to the glorious returned majesty of the bi-curious cuckolded husband. His people need him, his cock a new tax on the flesh of his two soils, a contribution impossible to tax, as the juices of his wife and her newly lordly lover are of the earth and belong to the earth.

One flight of orgasmic stairs, and three points of pale ecstasy, are all the reward that the steady fornicator deserves, as he returns to the daily grind’s clandestine mission, to unimagined depravity of biblical proportions, and a house that remembers his lucky presence, a godly emanation of their expanded sexuality, and the sin of talking of cock with more than just two lips, and unsatisfied, greedy inner laces, like a tongue unspoken. So lucky, the delicious disappointment of a kosher kosher meat tax, a sex-written steak, protein-rich and chunky.