Clea, Trashy Chubby 🇨🇵 (Nivel 3) mail warning

Clea, Trashy Chubby 🇨🇵

French busty girl ( irl too!) who play around only for DM ( and few game if i like my mate too, bit dont count on it !)
I'm freaky, messy, a bit filthy and very, very perverted 🙈 i'm more into degrading than praising ~~
Depending the partner my kinks can be very wide, from rought sexy stuff to weird hentai kinks.

Just notice i hate the usual taboo things ( underage, incest, zoo, scat etc) but i also hate groupplay, pain stuff, and furry. Yet big fan of monster or freaksso dont fear to jump in my DM :)
I dont like fully sub mate too :)

Wanna catch my atttention ?
Dont act polite or cute, catch my lustfull attention. Dont hold your words... Also a little hint but i love money 🤑 (roleplay ofc)
❗Avoid D-pic pls, i'm a Size Queen i would hurt your ego 🤣

I may start a collection of story, a day or another

A fat nerd heard i was part germzn blooded. He fuck the shit out of me until i accept my germanic ancestor.. and his filthy german seed. 🇩🇪

Encounter with Marcus

The campaign office was quiet after hours. Only the low hum of the city lights through the big windows remained.
She had started the night the same way she always did — drunk on cheap beer, mouth running wild.
“Fucking n**** lovers, all of you,” she slurred, leaning back in the cheap folding chair, her black tank top stretched tight over her massive tits, the blue octopus tattoo crawling across her cleavage. “This whole woke campaign is a joke. I only showed up ‘cause my cousin said there’d be free booze.”
The tall, muscular Black man in the sharp navy suit watched her from across the desk. He didn’t smile. He just loosened his red tie slowly.
“You talk a lot of shit for a fat-titted white trash girl with racist ink,” he said, voice deep and calm. “Name’s Marcus. I run this campaign. And you… you’re about to get corrected.”
She laughed, flipping him off. “Try me, ape.”
Ten minutes later she wasn’t laughing.
Marcus had her bent over the campaign desk, her black skirt shoved up around her waist, panties ripped to the side. His thick, veiny black cock was stretching her tight pussy wider than anything she’d ever taken.
“F-fuck… too big…” she gasped, freckled face pressed against campaign flyers.
“Shut up,” he growled, slamming in deeper, one strong hand gripping her messy brown hair. “This racist cunt is getting owned tonight. Say it.”
“I… I hate n***— ahhh!” Her words cut off in a broken moan as he pounded her harder, his heavy balls slapping against her clit.
Every brutal thrust drove the old hate out of her. He fucked her like he was claiming territory — slow, deep, merciless. By the time he flooded her womb with the first thick load, she was babbling, drooling, her glasses fogged up.
That was night one.
Two weeks later
The girl in the mirror barely looked like the same person.
Her hair was styled, makeup done. The tight white button-up shirt was tied under her heavy tits, pushing them up obscenely. The black miniskirt barely covered her ass. Sheer black stockings hugged her thick thighs, the small tattoos peeking through. Around her neck sat a shiny black leather collar with a little silver spade charm dangling between her cleavage.
Marcus stood behind her, hands on her hips, admiring his work.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied. “From loudmouth racist trash to my personal secretary whore. Say your new title.”
She bit her lip, cheeks flushed. The old fire was still in her eyes, but it had been fucked into submission. Her voice came out soft and needy:
“I’m… your personal secretary whore, Sir.”
He reached around, squeezing one of her big tits through the thin shirt.
“Good girl. Now get on your knees. The donors are coming in twenty minutes and I need that throat nice and wet before the meeting.”
She dropped instantly, glasses sliding down her nose as she fished out his massive black cock. The octopus tattoo on her chest jiggled as she eagerly took him into her mouth, gagging softly while she worshipped.
Marcus stroked her hair almost gently.
“Tomorrow you’re coming with me to the rally. Short skirt, no panties. Every time I say ‘correct the record’ on stage, you’re gonna feel my cum leaking down your thighs. Understand?”
She moaned around his cock, nodding desperately, eyes watering with lust.
The racist girl was gone.
Only his owned campaign whore remained.