Down the throat

He hears the wet sounds first, glass clinking against teeth, a blonde girl gagging soft and low. It’s too much. He drops his pen and steps through the doorway. She’s on the couch, phone in one hand, the other sliding down the front of her shorts. On the screen a brunette teen kneels, spit shining her chin as a cock disappears past her lips and stays there. The camera angle tightens. The girl’s eyes water, throat working around thick inches, the guy holding her head steady. Her boyfriend’s jeans tighten fast. She looks up, lips parted, and he’s already behind her, fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts and tugging them down. She lifts her hips without a word. The movie keeps playing; the brunette has her nose pressed to a belly now, saliva dripping off her chin in long strings. He spits on his fingers, finds her tight hole, and presses one inside. She gasps, pushes back. On screen the same thing happens, except the guy there is lining up with a pink, glistening asshole. He spreads her open, sinks in slow, holds still. The teen on camera does the same, breathing hard, taking every inch until her rim clenches around the base. They fuck like that—short, sharp thrusts, deep in her ass—while the movie soundtrack matches them moan for moan. She reaches down, rubs her clit, eyes locked on the screen as the guy pulls out just far enough to watch her hole try to close, then drives back in. When he finally yanks free, the blonde leans forward, mouth open, and takes him straight down her throat, swallowing every drop like the girl on the phone taught her.