Backstage with Cayenne

She looked good enough to ruin my plans for the night. Never touched her before, but I was about to. We drove straight to the bar, where the photographer was already waiting with lights and lenses set. The moment we stepped inside, the air changed. Blonde hair catching the low light, her smile small but hungry, she moved like she knew exactly what was about to happen. He started shooting while we leaned against the counter, my hand sliding up her thigh under that short skirt, testing how far she’d let me go. She didn’t stop me. Instead she spread a little wider, daring me. I kissed her hard, tasting something sweet on her tongue, then slipped my fingers under her panties and found her already wet. The camera clicked away as she moaned into my mouth, legs trembling. I pulled her panties aside, dropped to my knees on the bar floor, and licked her until she grabbed my hair and came with a sharp little cry that echoed off the bottles. When she caught her breath she dragged me back up, turned me around, and slid her hand straight between my legs. Two fingers pushed inside me while she kissed my neck. The photographer kept shooting, catching every wet sound, every twitch of her wrist. She fucked me like she’d done it a hundred times, curling her fingers until my knees buckled. I came hard, forehead pressed to the cool wood of the bar, her free hand steadying my hip. We didn’t even bother moving to a back room. We just kept going right there—her on the stool now, skirt bunched at her waist, my mouth between her thighs again while the flashes kept popping. Blonde hair falling over her eyes, small tits flushed pink, thighs shaking against my cheeks. She tasted clean and sharp and young. When I finally stood up she kissed me deep, licking herself off my lips, then reached down and stroked me until I came a second time, slower, softer, my legs wrapped around her wrist. The bar was quiet except for our breathing and the soft mechanical click of the camera. She smiled, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and asked if we were done. Not even close.