Olga leaned against the dacha counter, her 100kg curves commanding the room. Short dark curls framed her face as she eyed Vladimir. "Two years without touching this body? Your loss, old man. Don't think a party fixes your cold cock."
Vladimir sighed, balding head glistening. "Olga, the guests—"
The microbus roared up. Alexander burst in with seventeen grinning men. "Party's here!" Drinks flowed fast. Olga's sharp tongue cut through the laughter. "Boys, you stare like you've never seen real hips. My pussy's already wet—dripping at the thought of showing you how a woman owns the night."
One laughed. "That overhanging belly hides a treat?"
"Find out," she fired back, strong and unyielding. "But only if those cocks get hard quick."
Sweating from the heat and vodka, the men circled closer. Olga's full arms gestured boldly. "Panting already? Good. Show me what you've got." Hands roamed; she didn't yield. Instead she directed, horny and in control. "Kneel? No—on your knees for me first."
Clothes hit the floor. Her hanging breasts and cellulite thighs gleamed. One man groaned, cock hard and throbbing. Olga gripped it. "That's the spirit." She took him in a wet blowjob, tongue working as others stroked nearby, asses flexing, the air thick with need. Cum teased at the tip as she pulled back, dripping onto her shaved mound. "More. Stretch me. Fill every hole."
The explosive rush began—bodies pressing, her ass lifted, pussy slick and ready, the first thrust landing deep as moans and witty taunts filled the room.
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