Backstage with Mira

David keeps an eye on the clock, then phones Jamaica. Mira shows up late again, but the moment she steps inside the tight little maid uniform does all the talking. Her tits strain the white fabric, red hair pinned up like she might drop it any second. She grabs a broom, spreads her legs, and rides the handle with slow, greedy rolls of her hips—every stroke pushing the wood between her folds until the polished shaft gleams. David watches, hard, already picturing how his friend’s eyes will light up when he walks in and finds her still working the broom like it owes her money.