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You were already struggling to catch some air with Tracer’s large, gorgeously-toned ass shoved hard against your face. But when Reaper held you against his chest and sat you down upon his proud cock, your breath jammed in your throat altogether. Thick and hard, the shaft of the man showed your tight little insides no mercy, seemingly stretching you wider with every vicious thrust he made. Though caught in between a hassle (literally and metaphorically), you were having the time of your life. You loved it all—your nude back slapping against Reaper’s rock-hard chest, the taste of the sweet Brit’s juices coating your mouth, the pressure of the enormous cheeks sandwiching your own… However, if you could’ve changed one thing right now, you would’ve told Soldier 76—who was lying flat beneath you and Gabriel, thrusting his hard dick up into Grabriel’s ass and thus controlling the pace—to slow down just a little. Alas, you couldn’t talk right now, and Soldier 76 sure as hell couldn’t listen to you anyways, for any sound you made would’ve been drowned out twenty times over by the loud, raspy groans and cries of Ana, the elderly sniper sitting like a queen upon his face. Oh, but the dear old lady just couldn’t help it: anybody would’ve screamed like a total madwoman had she been in her place, indulging in the sensation of the hero’s slimy tongue darting and swirling ferociously against her smooth walls. A moment or two into the rendezvous, Ana had stopped shouting, but only because a dick had been shoved into her mouth. Despite being frazzled by sweet oral, she managed to turn her head to the side in order to let Torbjörn in on the fun. Thanks to a stool that had been laying around, he managed to compensate for his short stature well enough to raise his crotch to face-level with her. With a fist in wiry white hair and a robotic claw pinching a sagging tit, the Swedish mechanic quickly fashioned himself into a machine of an exotic kind, pounding the hell out of her face at a rapid speed that would put every state-of-the-art hammer to shame. As if to signal her approval (or at least to keep herself from falling over), Ana reached up and clasped a hearty handful of Torbjörn’s pubic hair, which was easy to hold fast to as it was braided in the same fashion as his beard. The fun didn’t end there. On his knees behind the little dwarven man was Reinhardt, honorably donning his birthday suit and proudly harnessing all 12 ½ inches of his rock-hard manhood. After an hour’s-worth of preparation with lubricant and Viagra, he had put his best foot forward (no pun intended) and flawlessly sheathed himself into Torbjörn’s asshole. With a throaty yell, Torbjörn bucked his hips upon penetration, hard enough against Ana’s face that he nearly gave the woman a concussion. However, when the smaller man adjusted to the overwhelming fullness inside his rectum, the gentlemen managed to sync into a single smooth rhythm of glorious fucking. This, of course, didn’t mean that others couldn’t pile on, including the vicious hunk of man meat that was Doomfist. Having nearly the same height and bulk as Reinhardt, the man found it easy to get down on his knees behind him and shove his enormous length in between the other man’s shapely buttocks. And as if doing squats at the gym, Reinhardt squeezed and released his gluteal muscles in a rhythm upon Doomfist’s cock so as to provoke him to ravage him harder. Without question, the dark-skinned brute got the message, and very soon was the other man grunting to the point where his face turned a hot red and his face made a crinkle somewhere between a grimace and a grin. Standing in the doorway from the living room to the kitchen and in between Doomfist and Roadhog was Winston. In relative modesty, the ape was neither impaling nor being impaled by any other. Rather, he was using a banana to please the beckoning hole of the African’s ass, while his free hand worked up and down the hardened shaft of the other man. As much as Winston desired to partake in this event, God forbid his human companions be guilty of bestiality. Let alone spread the giant monkey’s case of HIV to everyone. Perhaps out of all participants, Roadhog was the most pleased of them all, and not many things could make this pig happy to begin with. Nothing—not even the feeling of hot and spicy BBQ ribs in his mouth, or the sensation of a hot stone massage—could ever, ever compare to the feeling of being jerked off by Winston while being fucked in the asshole by his dear partner, Junkrat. Yes, nothing could compare to giant, coarse monkey hands working his thick, porky meat like a mad race to peel the skin of a banana. Nothing could compare to the weight of a much smaller man clinging onto him for dear life and desperately ramming his cock in between his giant buttcheeks like a little fucking hot-and-bothered horsefly. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Oooooh… The carnal chain was already reaching into the kitchen at Junkrat’s place. With his backside up close to the table, ‘twas a perfect opportunity for Lúcio to lay himself over atop the surface and indulge his handsome face in the Australian’s deliciously tight arse. The cheeks were small but toned, almost difficult for the other young man to delve his tongue in between to reach the pink hole, but the lewd taste he lapped up after a few licks was very much worth the struggle. And in being a man who loved to pay good vibes forward, the DJ hoped he was giving Junkrat the same pleasure that he was presently receiving from Hanzo Shimada, who was viciously eating out of his arse. Indeed he was, although the pleasure was excessive due to Hanzo being fucked from behind at the same time. McCree. Oh, good old boy, that McCree. He’d been wanting this for longer than anyone knew, and now was the opportunity to make his wet dreams of Hanzo come to life. With the archer bent over the kitchen table in perfect position, McCree took him hungrily by the hips, thick fingers almost digging too hard into the flesh while he rammed his member over-and-over into the small, tight orifice. His iconic cowboy hat had fallen off to the floor due to romping so hard, but he kept going anyways. With sweat forming and member twitching, he strained to withhold his orgasm as if Hanzo’s continuous muffled moaning was the only thing keeping him alive. Good God, if this pace kept up long enough, he was going to need an extra cigar when this was finished. The cowboy wasn’t expecting to have any extra partners at this party, but when Hanzo’s brother offered to get behind him, he didn’t refuse. If anything, McCree would be sure to give Mercy a great big hug and a kiss for having blessed Genji with a miraculous prosthetic phallus. The glorious robotic part was drawn out from a compartment within the ninja’s groin, then harnessed to bless the fleshier one’s arsehole with one of the best porks of his life. But the fun didn’t end there, for Genji’s cock was equipped with all the testicular software that any typical male wish he had: surface heating, various holes in the shaft for lube secretion, real cum (pre-cum included), and last but not least, advanced vibration technology that could be placed on four different levels. McCree was just as baffled as he was pleasured. It was a holy combination never thought possible, the technology of a dildo combined with the nature of man, brought to reality by the good doctor herself. Mercy truly was an angel! And what a greater blessing it was that in addition to the magical mechanical manhood (MMM), Genji would be given complementary robotic testicles to be handled in this moment by Master Zenyatta. Sure, the contact was a scandalous taboo, but no one else was quite skilled enough to fondle Genji’s balls the way he desired. And by what everyone had witnessed prior, Zenyatta was a grand master at handling balls to begin with. Yes, even with one hand preoccupied with the scrotum, the omnic monk was simultaneously levitating his orbs with great ease and amusement. At one point, as if to show off his surprising skill, Zenyatta was even so bold as to use his Orb of Discord to briefly fist Genji. The monk was somewhat amazed by what he witnessed—for a partially robotic male, Genji was capable of accepting quite a bit up the hole. Meanwhile, Orisa was hunched in the doorway between the kitchen and the game room to deliver some pleasure to Zenyatta. Unlike blessed Genji, Zenyatta did not possess a wondrous masculine piece within his groin. However, this wasn’t a problem. On the back of his head was a secret compartment in which a robotic vagina was hidden until now. The rubbery flaps resembling labia were lit like blue glowsticks, which sent the other omnic into a trance of allure and wonder. With a large finger did she generously slide between these beautiful folds. She fingered slowly, and Zenyatta was sent into a pleasurable mind spin that was certain to make his circuits break. Surely, such an orchestration brought “fucking with the head” to an entirely new level. Orisa would’ve made the attempt to please Zenyatta’s head with her mechanical cock had it not already been in the hand of D.Va’s Mech. Thankfully, the pilot didn’t have to stay preoccupied with pumping the shaft and could instead leave the machine on auto-pilot to do the work. While this went on, D.Va sat in the pilot seat with a game controller in hand, eyes glued to the TV screen as she battled to win another level in her favorite game. The girl seldom lost videogames, though she lost on the boss this time around—this she blamed on losing too much focus from the intensity of Mei’s tongue between her pale champion thighs. D.Va cussed through groans at the other Asian, but what was Mei to do? It was a tough position she was in: fingered from below by Zarya while having to stand on tiptoes for her face to reach the edge of the mecha pilot seat. If only D.Va would be courteous and just scoot down a little more. Better yet, it was best she got off that damn videogame and focused on being in the moment with her partners. Oh, how Mei pitied the next man or woman who tried to have honest, intimate sex with Hana Song. Because clearly, there would never be such a thing. While Zarya took care of Mei’s wanting pussy, Pharah took care of Zarya. The Russian lass possessed a rather girthy functioning penis thanks to the loads of testosterone pumped into her throughout the years, but despite being experienced with womanhood only, Pharah did not find this an issue. Rather, with pride and fiery passion, she rode atop the cock like a queen. With every hearty thrust from her lover’s mighty hips, she could feel herself tipping back further towards her, groans growing louder. Finally, before she could fall over flush against Zarya, Pharah snapped back forward again. From the way she opened her mouth desperately, one would’ve assumed it was to ingest more air, but in this case, it was to ingest something else. Mercy’s engorged, wet womanhood, positioned perfectly for Pharah’s face to fall into. ‘Twas a miraculous sight that would’ve brought any human to tears of awe. A sight more beautiful than the vast Grand Canyon or any other wonder of the world. Four women—Mercy, Symmetra, Moira and Sombra—flowed and poured over the game room couch in a feminine river of cunnilingus and finger fucking. With Mercy bending over one side of the couch, Symmetra was lain flat on her back so that her shapely legs could drape over the blonde’s shoulders as she ate her sex. At the same time, Symmetra delivered intricate finger sex to Moira, her fingers working artistic magic over and between the plump folds in hopes of hearing the lady grunt her name. Unfortunately for her, Moira could not do this as she was hunched over the other side of the couch, face far too preoccupied in Sombra’s own folds to be singing Symmetra’s name. The most intriguing aspect of this seductive sofa symphony? Sombra was engaged in a handstand beside the couch, Moira holding fast to her ankles, pussy up in the air to be eaten. All this while impaling yet another female in the chain… with her handgun. Braced in the loveliest doggy position, Widowmaker was the one to receive the end of such a peculiar object shoved up her entrance. It was rough, almost unthinkable to the average woman, and God forbid that the gun was loaded and unlocked in that moment. But oh, that was why the spider loved this so! The threat of danger. The dark obscenity of the penetrating object. The ache of feeling like a target. Other than the sweet, euphoric rush of a kill, this act couldn’t have made her felt any more alive! That, and being able to mount Tracer and breastfeed her at the same time this was happening. It is difficult for one to believe that this grand, beauteous orgy was in a completed circle despite the scattering throughout the house. It is even more difficult for one to comprehend that Tracer was closing off the gap in the chain via existing in two places at the same time. Nevertheless, once one learns and considers the ungodly speed of the bouncy Brit, the situation suddenly makes sense. With the power of the Chronal Accelerator, Tracer was able to accomplish this task. Thus, she was capable of pleasing three partners at once—Widowmaker whom was sucked on, you who tasted the rich flavor of her sex, and Reaper whom was fed some of the breastmilk of Widowmaker while Tracer hunched over you to kiss him. Alas, there were some poor souls not included in this merry mixture. Bastion just so happened to be one of these. Though he prayed to the Omnic Gods that he’d be invited tonight, this never came to be so. Consumed by his depression, he’d remained outside the house the entire time, sitting on the cold hard curb. As he cried imaginary robotic tears, he proceeded to hump an old toaster that was found in the neighbors’ trash. However, the toaster proved a perfect partner for Bastion. At least they had something in common.