Strap on Videos
Artificial anatomy enables penetration beyond biological limits in Pure Taboo scenarios. The psychological complexity of prosthetic power creates simmering tension, as toys become extensions of dominance in forbidden configurations of control. Dare to watch what others won't.
Jill's doorbell buzzes like a bad omen on a rainy afternoon. She opens the door, expecting her usual high school kid, but there stand Connor and Macy—two smirking teens, all fresh-faced hunger and zero shame. 'Our buddy swapped with us,' Connor says, flashing a grin that's equal parts boyish and bold. 'He's with his tutor. We're here for biology. Big exam tomorrow.' Jill blinks, caught off guard, but their eyes scream sincerity. She waves them inside, the air thick with unspoken static. Books out, diagrams up—she dives into cell structures and mitosis, her voice steady as she points to the notes. But Connor's gaze lingers on her curves, not the pages. Macy leans in too close, whispering questions laced with innuendo, her breath hot against Jill's ear. Flustered heat creeps up Jill's neck. Their compliments hit like stray bullets: 'You're way hotter than our teacher,' Connor murmurs. Macy giggles, tracing a finger along the table's edge. Unease coils in Jill's gut, but damn if it doesn't spark something forbidden. Then they drop the bomb. 'Truth is,' Macy says, voice dropping low, 'we heard you're smoking hot. Swapped so we could fuck you.' Jill freezes, heart slamming. Connor pulls a strap-on from his backpack—sleek, black, unapologetic. 'Macy's gonna strap this on and take you too,' he adds, eyes locked on hers, daring her to bolt. Shock rips through her, but arousal floods in its wake, traitorous and fierce. Ethics? They shatter like cheap glass. Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy. Connor's hands grip her hips, thrusting deep with urgent rhythm. Macy buckles up, her eyes wild as she slides in from behind, the three of them tangled in sweat-slicked abandon—a storm of moans and skin slapping skin, biology forgotten in the raw pulse of it all.
Jill's doorbell buzzes like a bad omen on a rainy afternoon. She opens the door, expecting her usual high school kid, but there stand Connor and Macy—two smirking teens, all fresh-faced hunger and zero shame. 'Our buddy swapped with us,' Connor says, flashing a grin that's equal parts boyish and bold. 'He's with his tutor. We're here for biology. Big exam tomorrow.' Jill blinks, caught off guard, but their eyes scream sincerity. She waves them inside, the air thick with unspoken static. Books out, diagrams up—she dives into cell structures and mitosis, her voice steady as she points to the notes. But Connor's gaze lingers on her curves, not the pages. Macy leans in too close, whispering questions laced with innuendo, her breath hot against Jill's ear. Flustered heat creeps up Jill's neck. Their compliments hit like stray bullets: 'You're way hotter than our teacher,' Connor murmurs. Macy giggles, tracing a finger along the table's edge. Unease coils in Jill's gut, but damn if it doesn't spark something forbidden. Then they drop the bomb. 'Truth is,' Macy says, voice dropping low, 'we heard you're smoking hot. Swapped so we could fuck you.' Jill freezes, heart slamming. Connor pulls a strap-on from his backpack—sleek, black, unapologetic. 'Macy's gonna strap this on and take you too,' he adds, eyes locked on hers, daring her to bolt. Shock rips through her, but arousal floods in its wake, traitorous and fierce. Ethics? They shatter like cheap glass. Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy. Connor's hands grip her hips, thrusting deep with urgent rhythm. Macy buckles up, her eyes wild as she slides in from behind, the three of them tangled in sweat-slicked abandon—a storm of moans and skin slapping skin, biology forgotten in the raw pulse of it all.