Backstage with Erica Fontes

Erica Fontes walks into the frame already naked. Her blond hair hangs loose past her shoulders. She’s slim, soft, and barely out of her teens. Lauro Giotto sits on the couch, hard and waiting. She drops to her knees without a word and takes him into her mouth, lips sliding all the way down, throat working. He stays still, letting her set the pace. When he’s wet enough, she stands, turns, and sinks onto him in one slow motion. Her pussy grips tight as she rides him, hips rolling with lazy control. He grabs her waist and thrusts up hard, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. She lifts off, takes him back in her mouth, tasting herself on him, then climbs on again. They keep switching like that—mouth, cunt, mouth—each pass smoother than the last. When he’s ready, she stays on her knees, opens her mouth, and he covers her tongue and lips in thick ropes. She swallows what lands inside, lets the rest drip down her chin. No talking. Just the sound of breath and bodies.