Backstage of Blind date

Behind the lights, Melinda’s bare feet press the cold floor. She’s just turned eighteen, blonde hair loose, and the set still smells like coffee and wet towels. Victor leans against the makeup table while she steps closer. He slides two fingers under her chin and opens her mouth; she sinks to her knees without being told twice. Her soft lips stretch around him, tongue already slick and eager. The brunette director calls for quiet, but the only sound that matters is the wet pull of Melinda’s mouth, slow then faster, until Victor’s grip tightens in her hair and her eyes water with the effort. She stays right there, working him, breathing through her nose, every small movement proving she wants the real thing on camera as soon as the red light clicks on.