So! You’ve read the stories we have and you want more. Not just any “more”, you want something specific. A racial battle of hate and malice. A fight between mother and daughter. A fight over you by your wife and your secretary. Well, guess what? You can have that if you put the writers below to work.
Now they won’t bring your fantasy to life for free, but given the incredible quality of their work, their prices are not only reasonable but cheap.
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But just in case you don’t here’s the deal. Join a tier, get the stuff. Here are Mobofair‘s commission-relevant tiers.
But don’t let the last one scare you! You know, unless you’re looking for your own fight-y version of the Iliad and the Odyssey.
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Felicia always loved this part, where artifice and seduction fell away and it was all instinct: what she’d been born with, and the empathic knowledge of how to please.
Not that she didn’t like strutting around in high heels and deciding just how much cleavage to show and which perfume to use and what syllable to purr on just so. But that was all such work. And sex shouldn’t be work. Not all the time. At times like these, she could just let her tongue do what it wanted and enjoy the ride. Enjoy the show.
Catwoman certainly didn’t have any complaints, not that Felicia expected her to. When Felicia drew the older woman’s clit into her mouth, sucking it like hard candy, the outright gasp that Catwoman expelled from her lungs came as no surprise.
“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
Catwoman was saying it softly, breathily. Not for effect, but just because that was how it slipped from her brain and hit her tongue. Was she even conscious of talking, or was it like a baby crying for its mommy, knowing only that the sounds would lead to its needs being met?
The older woman’s hips were pumping now, her leather-bound ass slapping on the tile like she was being fucked by a prick instead of a tongue. Felicia followed that cunt down and back up. Enjoying the ride.
Until Catwoman’s body spiked, carrying Felicia up to her knees. Felicia’s claws slipped from Catwoman’s nipples, leaving furrowed scarlet trails down the undersides of the older woman’s breasts. But Catwoman either didn’t notice, or quite liked it.
Catwoman’s body was now showing off its incredible athleticism, with only the shoulder blades and toes remaining on the floor. The rest followed the wet flesh that demanded Felicia’s mouth, suffocating her in scent and taste enough for her to remember the Feline Fatale for the rest of her days.
And Felicia did all she could to fulfill Catwoman’s demand. She wanted her to remember the Black Cat for the rest of her life. Remember being fucked. Remember being stolen from. Remember that she could have Gotham, but that the rest of the world belonged to Felicia Hardy.
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So with Drew you have a choice! Fiverr:
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The official duel hasn’t even started between them yet and still, they have given each other as they have gotten. Gabby, the Polish Italian American planted her chin on the German American Marge’s shoulder and vice versa. The only voices in the room are the hisses and grunts as both try to use the bathroom mirror as a pointer where to hurt the other. This task has been more dauntingly difficult below the belt where they could only rely on their fingers, and accordingly, both started to maul and claw the other’s ass. Problem is, that losing themselves too much into this just only leads to yet another fight without rules, one they couldn’t afford right now. For starters, due to their age, determination was set in stone by the energy reserves they have, which isn’t much at this point. Then there’s the issue of the regiment of drugs they take. Gabby has a circulation problem, whereas Marge is taking pain killers for a chronic condition resulting of an accident, around the turn of the millennium. So, even if they don’t do anything to each other, just prevent one another from the care they need is already hard torture. Signs of that already start to show, when Gabby, feeling a bit lightheaded is leaning too much on Marge, whose legs start to buckle under their combined weight.
As they stumble, Marge’s back pushes against the cold surface of the glass door of the shower, prompting her to squeal in surprise. Gabby lets go of her hug of Marge and starts to pull the door open, leading the most awkward contact between the women’s breasts. In full light, Marge sees it for the first time in reality, that Gabrielle has implants, and because they’re so well-made, they resist the pressure of her natural melons to an extent. Yet they don’t do this to play another round of breasts of strength, but to push each other into the shower.
Much like with the door frame, the older women filled out the place not meant for two people. Or at least, it seemed that way at first. Due to their inability to unpack, their toiletry was not yet put up, and had to settle for a bar of soap. With some quick thinking, they’ve found the right place for it. The women turned their backs to each other, made the soap just enough wet so it can slip and slide, and pushing their butts against one another, the soap has found its place between them. The challenge was on to determine what they were taunting each other with on social media, who has the better butt. Whatever stamina they had left, they channeled it into pushing the other onto the wall tits first, may they be the cold tiles or the equally cold glass panel. Since the bar of soap limited the movements of their hinds, they tried circular motions until the other cried uncle, which just never seemed to come.