Backstage with Janny

Janny flashes a coy smile, then slips off her dress like it was never there. The interview was supposed to be questions and answers, but her fingers already work at my belt. She drops to her knees, hair catching the light, and takes me in one smooth motion. Her tongue moves slow and sure, lips tight, eyes locked on mine until spit trails down her chin. She moans when I push deeper, the sound humming right through me. When I pull her up, she turns without a word. Hands on the couch, back arched, she waits. I press in slow, her tight heat gripping every inch. Janny gasps, pushes back, takes it deeper. Her moans grow louder with each thrust, the slap of skin filling the quiet room. She reaches back to spread herself wider, begging for more without ever saying please. I flip her onto her back, legs up over my shoulders. She keeps her eyes on me, biting her lip as I drive harder. The heat, the squeeze, the wet sounds—everything pulls me closer. When I pull out she drops to the floor again, mouth open, and takes it all over her flushed cheeks and waiting tongue. She swallows what she can, then licks the rest from her lips like she never wants it to end.