Jules Jordan’s Ass Worship 17

Weighing in at a hefty two discs, Jules Jordan’s Ass Worship 17 offers plenty of opportunities to bow at the altar of anus and clasp your hands in something resembling prayer. There are enough callipygian cum-targets on display here to make Robert Crumb blush. The festivities begin in Miami Beach, where the Blue Angels are soaring overhead, the American flag is flying, there’s a motocross competition underway, and Kissa Sins is shaking her jaw-dropping booty for all it’s worth. Tatted-up brunet bombshell Sins provides a playful, slow build—it’s 20 minutes before we get within spitting distance of a sex scene—prior to undergoing an epic banging. Sins’ mating call veers between demonic growling and yodeling as her pussy is drilled. When her bunghole is breached, Sins’ face stretches like the dude’s in Edvard Munch’s The Scream, and it’s not long before her turd-cutter is similarly distended. Sins’ scene ends with a splattering of nad nectar to her clean-shaven cleft—an odd choice for an offering that purports to be all about the ass, but there ya go. Alas, not all of the talent is as scintillating as Sins; with her plump-lipped trout-pout and vacant-eyed stare, blond fuckbot Savannah Bond seems little more than a RealDoll with a pulse. Luckily, Abella Danger and her world-famous ass chute turn up next for a scorching scene with Steve Holmes. Danger’s dumper is a muscular wonder—she could probably squeeze a lump of coal into a diamond between her cheeks—and big as Holmes’ cock is, Danger’s derriere devours it. Ass Worship 17 is a little half-assed, but it’s still good, cheeky fun. —Pico D. Ribibi