Fading resistance...

“No… what, stop that.” Tracer twisted away from him at first, but her attempts to escape never had any life to them. She put her hands on his wrists, tried to push him off, failed, felt her panties soak even more at the feeling of failing.

Soo, Kingmen had his hands on her thighs and hips. Her breathing grew more ragged, becoming more and more erotic. What started as little gasps soon became moans that echoed the girls in his videos.

“I’m not… I-I’m gay! I don’t want this!” She made her argument as she spread her legs. Kingmen smirked and proceeded to give Lena the most savage kiss of her life! It was like he was devouring her, like he was wolfing her down! Time and time again, he firmly pressed his lips against hers. First, he turned his head to the left, opening and closing his mouth. Then he took her from the right, tongue worming into her mouth. When he withdrew, he left her panting.

The kiss left her breathless and soaking, her body hot with a fever. It made the kisses Emily gave her look positively chaste! She knew this was wrong, but fighting back was getting harder and harder.

Tracer was gasping, head still swimming. Her oversized tits heaved under her flight suit. She wanted to curse him, hit him, tear at him. She wanted to run away with her tail tucked between her legs. But as she shied away from his gaze and worked up the nerve to repel him angrily, her feeble attempt at anger drained away as her eyes stated wide at his cock. It bounced inches in front of her, dripping. Not cum, not yet. But…shiny. Eager. Strange. Alien. Amazing. Powerful. In her dazed state, Tracer was drawn in by its allure, by its dominance. And as if totally ignoring everything that had just happened moments ago, like his near-**** was wiped clean, she stared, reaching a hand up hesitantly, her expression gaping.

“Uh…” she began, not even addressing his last attempt, as if to say it was no big deal, no harm done. “Um.” She stammered again, glancing away for only the briefest second, the longest she could take her eyes of that enormous shaft.

“I was thinking, uh… maybe I could, like…” she shrugged, almost casually, “Maybe I could suck your cock?” She finally managed. “Just… you know, to see what it’s like?”

Lena took a breath, puffing up a little, then quickly added before he could respond. “But two conditions! One, no can know about it, not a soul!” Especially not Emily. “And two, you don’t cum in my mouth. Or on me. Deal?” she asked insistently, shaking frazzled, sweating and blushing, yet despite everything, still reaching a trembling hand towards that monolithic cock.

Kingmen smirked. “Mm, you got it, Tracer. I won’t get any cum in, or on, you.”

Tracer went for the shaft. Wrapping her delicate hands around it, marveling at its heat. She hesitantly stroke the throbbing length, unsure and nervous. That wasn’t good enough for someone like Kingmen.

"Hey, all I know is you said you'd suck it, so... Let's see you take it in already. Come the fuck on, Tracer, you're puttin' me to sleep."

He was persistent! He was mean! And his dick was so heavy it looked like it could break bricks! As his nagging continued to wear Tracer down, just up and leaving seemed to be becoming less and less of an option. She looked down at the plump head of his dick, still twitching like a wild animal in her hand. She looked at the floor, gulped, and very slowly and consciously began to open her mouth.

"Ahhh~" Her plump pink lips fell open, revealing the wet, sticky sleeve within. At that moment, her mouth felt like another pussy. It was a target for men like him that they doggedly pursued, buying her drinks, chatting her up and begged, **** and insisted for...

She'd never been so conscious of her own tongue's movements. It swatted from side to side as she turned up and looked at him, her mouth still open. To him, her head looked like a dick-holster with eyes.

"Mmm. That's it."

He leaned forward and depressed her tongue to the bottom of her mouth with the head of his penis, putting its lashing to rest. Its squirming stopped abruptly, all available space in her mouth now taken up with meaty member. As she tested the theory that her mouth was stuffed with cock, her tongue made little twitches that made him shudder with pleasure. "Mmmn. Oh yeah," groaned Kingmen.

More semen splashed onto the roof of her mouth as he began to move his hips. Time seemed to stop as he stretched her mouth out around his member. Kingmen’s distant shirt-clad belly began to inch closer to her face, while the panicky sensation that she was becoming full grew stronger and stronger.

With every slick, sweaty inch of cock that slowly pushed its way into her overstretched mouth, Tracer's worry began to deepen. This had been a questionable idea to start, but now that it was in her mouth, her brain was scrambling to keep up with her senses. There was that thick, musky taste, that stench of sweat and manliness, that dripping, lingering flavour of precum and cock that now seeped into her taste buds for the first time. And as she was pulled - or perhaps pushed? - further onto that cock, her head sliding closer and closer to Kingmen's bare crotch, she couldn't help but feel all the more panicked.

Her eyes widened, glancing rapidly, helplessly, from a cross-eyed stare at the huge prick slipping into her open mouth-sheath, and to Kingmen's confident, grinning expression. Her own expression was all confusion, her eyes overwhelmed and pleading. But pleading for what she couldn't hope to say aloud, or think about clearly, with her gullet being stuffed like this.

Feeling yet more gooey mess start to dribble and spurt from the tip, she sort of coughed, gagged slightly, but all it served to do was instantly slip her down another inch down that enormous pillar of pure, intimidating manhood.

As if the sensation itself wasn't enough, that overwhelming, even **** feeling of an oversized, heavy-as-lead cock pushing into her mouth, sliding over her tongue like some lewd landing strip as it struggled and squirmed under the impressive heft, there was also the psychological element to consider. Images of the other conquests Kingmen had flashed in the back of her head, bumped out by her own nervous noises and hesitant twitches. She saw herself on the same line-up, imagined herself on her back with legs spread along with a line of bimbos, with Kingmen happily going down the row, penetrating each girl with a quick thrust before moving onto the next. How had she positioned herself into this? Was she really just another notch on his belt, even after all she said, all she believed in? She was so full of bluster and spit a second ago, but now her bluster was gone, and her spit was coating Kingmen's terrifying cock.

Lesbian lips were locked on that slick shaft. A dyke's tongue lashed over the underside, stroking and caressing, clumsily, inadvertently, but pleasurably all the same. And as her jaw began to stretch to its limit, Tracer realized with a wide-eyed sincerity that even her hardcore lezzy throat was being poked by a prick belonging to the biggest pig she knew. How? How? How could she have come to this? Why did she offer this? For all her panic, she sure couldn't think straight, and somehow - perhaps in Kingmen's own confident presentation - it never even occurred to her that pulling her mouth off was even an option.

She'd had silky-soft lesbian lovers working their fingers through her hair. She'd had women young and old support her neck and the back of her head with warm hands. She'd been cradled, petted and whatever else! But she'd never felt a man's strong palms closing around the top of her head, his fingers splaying across her scalp almost down to her neck.

A sudden flash came to her mind that it was more like the way a workman gripped his tool than how a lover handled her body. His hands had their only manly weight and aroma, trapping her on all sides.

Kingmen started to move his hips more insistently. He growled low and dark in the back of his throat, solely fixated on getting off inside this cute little feminist. The crusade for women's rights would have to take a little break right now, because Tracer was definitely out to lunch.

Tracer felt his shaft trembling... Wasn't he getting awfully close to cumming? She hardly had enough experience to be sure, but it seemed like... Well, they had a deal. He'd promised not to cum in her, or on her. They had a deal, so -

Kingmen began really cumming. Tracer's protests were stifled, her efforts to tug her head away powerless against that helmet-grip he had on her, keeping his target firmly stationary. A thick, gluggy tide of semen bubbled forth from the head of his cock, the tip opened up all the way as it struggled to keep up with the volume he was pumping out! First shot, second shot, third shot... His cum kept pouring out, each trembling ejaculation barely clear of the head and white-washing her mouth before the successive one was rocketing up behind it, pushing spunk out with even more **** and pressure!

Kingmen threw his head and groaned somewhere around the seventh shot, and finally loosened his grip. Tracer was free to collapse onto the floor, the poor girl sucking in dear gasps. A waterfall of spunk oozed out of her mouth as she clutched her chest, thinking the nightmare was finally over... But that thought only lasted until long ropes of semen lashed across her back like water-gun blasts! Kingmen semened-up her neck, her hair and poured it down her back like he'd upturned a bucket! She was getting soaked!

"We had a deal!" The thought burned in her head as his semen turned the insides of her mouth white. He'd betrayed his best friend just to get off. For Kingmen, emptying his nuts inside a hotty's curvy bod came before anything else.

He gripped her shoulder, turned the girl back to face him. Tracer began to echo her thoughts, starting to say, “We had a dea - ” right before Kingmen **** his cock back in her mouth. Just in time for the tenth shot, and all the ones after it. Any semen that might have dribbled out of her mouth during her short-lived respite was now being ruggedly **** down her throat!

Thick. Hot. Sticky. Goopy. It was like nothing she'd ever tasted before - but everything she'd feared! It was so thick she felt like she was gulping glue, and her poor lesbian throat struggled to swallow fast enough to keep her airways clear. If she thought her mouth was stuffed before, now it was absolutely stretched to its limits!

Her jaw ached, and her cheeks bulged as they filled up with gooey-thick spunk, filling in what little space remained between her stretched-out cheeks and that monster-sized cock, glazing her tongue and coating her entire mouth. Her eyes were wide, her lesbo lips made a perfect seal around that pulsing tool of rock-hard manliness, and with her cheeks puffed out with cum, she looked positively cartoonish! A look like that certainly isn't one people would ever associate with a tough, self-confident, capable dyke like Tracer. A look like that couldn't be forgotten. Kingmen glimpsed it only for a second, lucky enough to witness it firsthand, but no amount of angry bluster from this bitch would ever hold water again. Not after her cheeks swelled up like balloons and she nearly choked on a fat, sticky load of pure cum.

Tracer swallowed hard and fast, but soon it became too much. Just as Kingmen pulled his cock out with a sickening, sloppy "pop", she coughed, gagged, a goopy rope of thick spunk oozing down from her lips and onto her chin, moving slowly with all the weight its appearance implied. It dribbled down, a long, sticky strand of glistening white slickness connecting her gasping, gaping mouth with the tops of her bare tits where it was now pooling.

Tracer gagged, disgusted, looking genuinely nauseated. It was terrible. It was terrifying. It was quite literally a nightmare come true. It was all she could taste. It was all she could smell. Her whole mouth was coated with a thick layer of the awful stuff so sticky she literally couldn't get it off. She panicked. What if it never came off? What if she had a cummy mouth for the rest of her life? Like a permanent coating. She had to get it off quick, her crazed mind reasoned. Otherwise, it would set in. Like superglue. It sure felt like it.

"You bastard!" Tracer squawked, trying in vain to wipe her mouth clean. "You said you wouldn't do that! We had a fucking deal!" She coughed, turning away, shaking her head. Her tits jiggled with every protest, the slightest movement sending those heavy orbs swaying. She may have gotten dinner, but Kingmen was getting the show.

Words flashed in her mind, seared into darkness, imprinted. Just flashes. Just light. But they registered somewhere in her subconscious, tenacious, as if stuck there by the gluey cum itself. "Slut." "Trash." "Whore." For a moment the word "Lesbian," came to mind, but a sudden cough and it was stamped over with another guilty, shameful subconscious impression.

"Cocksucker."

Kingmen stood over Tracer, his dripping dick still hard. She looked from him, to it, then back again, fingers hovering over her mouth. "No..."