Backstage with Angell Summers

She’s choosing the outfit, alone, humming under her breath. The silk slides through her fingers, one dress after another. The shower can wait; cocks can’t. When the crew is slow and the two leading men linger off-set, Angell’s patience snaps. She steps out of her robe without a word, tits heavy and bare under the dressing-room lights, nipples already tight. The first cock is thick and half-hard when she drops to her knees; the second one she grips behind her, stroking it awake while her mouth stretches around the first. She sucks greedily, throat working, saliva running down the shaft until her chin shines. Still stroking, she stands, turns, and backs onto the waiting length behind her. One smooth thrust and she’s filled, gasping, big tits swaying as the man’s hips slap her ass. The second man steps close, lines up, and pushes in beside the first—slow, relentless—until both cocks are buried deep. Angell’s mouth falls open. Her hands grip the makeup table; the mirror shows every slick inch disappearing between her spread thighs. She rocks between them, black hair swinging, cunt stretched wide, greedy for every thrust. When the first man pulls out and paints her tongue, she swallows without missing a beat. The second man keeps pounding until she shudders, cunt clenching, then he adds his load across her tits. She rubs the warm streaks into her skin, already eyeing the clock for the next scene.