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Just as I was about to ease my raging horniness with a quick jerk-off, I spotted her: a cute, nerdy teen clutching her textbooks. Glasses a little off-centered, she looked like innocence personified – possibly a virgin. I checked my pockets—yeah, enough change to try my luck. Let's see if she's up for swapping those books for Big Mike's monster cock…

Cruising through the rich outskirts, my radar is on high alert for fancy pussies. Then I see her: blond hair, fancy bra, big fake tits, dripping with jewelry, and that bored housewife energy. A permanent smirk, acting like she’s too good for the world. Language barrier? Not a problem when you’re loaded from winning naked poker and packing technology that can translate anything. We park somewhere private so I can show her what a real French baguette looks like. She’s about to find out if that pussy is ready for Big Mike’s grande croissant.

Cruising the city outskirts, I spot a desperate duo—an old car, a scruffy dude, and a redhead in a skirt. Oh, and she’s pregnant. Like, real pregnant. This half-hobo dude looks ready to sell his own soul, so I make an offer. “Need a ride? Sure, but the lady’s coming in my fuckwagon.” The guy barely hesitates—clearly, he knows who’s packing the real deal here.

Turns out, she’s his daughter. A little family roadside bonding, huh? I get her to show off those ripe preggo tits for a photo session. Damn, those milkers are something else. She’s around eight months, belly huge, and I can’t help but joke about poking the little guy’s eye with my cock. The guy? He’s just sitting in the back, trying not to cry while I gear up to show her what Big Mike is all about.

That French pussy feels so damn good, but man, it's gonna need a whole bottle of lube to make this work. I flip her around and dive in from behind—my favorite view. She’s moaning in that fancy French accent, and I’m loving every second of it. By the time I’m done, she’s gonna need to take a few days off to recover. God, she looks perfect drenched in my love juice.

Cruising through the rich outskirts, my radar is on high alert for fancy pussies. Then I see her: blond hair, fancy bra, big fake tits, dripping with jewelry, and that bored housewife energy. A permanent smirk, acting like she’s too good for the world. Language barrier? Not a problem when you’re loaded from winning naked poker and packing technology that can translate anything. We park somewhere private so I can show her what a real French baguette looks like. She’s about to find out if that pussy is ready for Big Mike’s grande croissant.

I roll up to this blonde in a Mini, legs for days, hair down to her ass. She acts like I’m dirt ‘cause I’m in my old RV, but I flash some cash, and her eyes go wide. Her Russian accent makes her sound all high and mighty, but now she’s curious. She climbs in, sneering at my wall of pics from past lays – doesn’t know she’s about to be the next one. I whip out my veiny monster, and she tries to act tough, but when I push it in, she’s squirming, whining, and finally shutting up.

Her tight little body’s barely taking me, but I keep going, slamming that virgin-feeling pussy over and over. I’m oiling it up, hitting it from the back, and she’s crying out like it’s too much. Then, mid-thrust, some creep peeks in the window, drooling like he wants a piece. Hell no, I tell him to get lost; she’s my prize tonight. He scrams, and I get back to it, letting her finish me off with her mouth and hands. By the end, she’s wrecked, speechless.