Backstage with Marketa

The day arrived. I headed back to Brno for another shoot. As soon as I got there I knew the day would turn into something special. Mr. Walton had set me up with Marketa, and the moment we met I felt the spark. She’s the kind of girl who looks at you and already knows exactly what she wants. We didn’t waste time. I pulled her close and our mouths met, slow at first, then deeper. Her tongue brushed mine, teasing, tasting. Marketa’s hands slid under my shirt, fingertips tracing my skin. She tasted sweet, almost too sweet, and I could feel her smiling against my lips. I pushed her onto the bed. The blonde hair fanned out across the sheets while her legs opened without hesitation. I kissed down her neck, lower, until my mouth found her small, perfect tits. My tongue circled each nipple until they stiffened, and Marketa arched, pushing more of herself into my mouth. Her hand found the front of my jeans. She freed my cock and wrapped her fingers around it, stroking slowly, deliberately. I watched her eyes darken with hunger. She licked her lips, then brought me to her mouth. Warm, wet, and tight—she took me deep on the first try, and I felt the back of her throat tighten around the head. She sucked like she was savoring every inch, saliva dripping down her chin onto her chest. I couldn’t wait any longer. I flipped her onto all fours, lined myself up, and pushed inside. She was dripping, tight, and the sound she made when I bottomed out was pure sex. I fucked her hard, each thrust shaking her body forward. Her moans turned into cries, but she kept pushing back, greedy for more. Sweat beaded on her back. Her pussy clenched around me, pulsing, trying to hold on. We switched. She climbed on top, blonde hair wild around her face, and sank down until I disappeared inside her again. She rode me fast, hips rolling, tits bouncing with every drop. I reached up and squeezed them, thumbing her nipples until she gasped. Then she leaned forward, kissed me hard, and ground down in tight little circles that made both of us shake. I flipped her again, this time onto her back. Legs over my shoulders, I drove into her deep and steady. Marketa’s eyes locked on mine the whole time, half-lidded, mouth open. She came first—body going rigid, a long, broken moan tearing out of her. Feeling her squeeze and flutter around me pushed me over the edge. I pulled out at the last second and painted her stomach and tits with thick, hot ropes. We lay there catching our breath, skin slick, hearts still racing. Marketa smiled, lazy and satisfied. So did I. Mr. Walton had chosen well.