Interview with Sandy

Sandy sits on the edge of the bed in a white cotton robe, sunlight catching the fine hairs on her thighs. She crosses one long leg over the other, the fabric parting just enough to show the swell of a cheek. The interviewer asks how it feels to shoot with her friend; Sandy’s lips curl as she answers, her voice low and a little hoarse from the morning’s filming. “I like knowing the camera sees exactly what I feel,” she says, sliding her palm under the robe to cup the heavy curve of her ass. She gives it a slow squeeze, the flesh spilling between her fingers, then lets the robe fall open. Her fingers drift lower, tracing lazy circles over the bare lips already slick from the last take. She parts them with two fingertips, a thin strand glistening between them before she brings the fingers to her mouth and tastes herself. “Katsuni knows how to make me come fast,” she murmurs, rubbing her clit in small, precise strokes. “She likes watching me stretch myself open right after.” Sandy sinks two fingers inside, breath hitching as her hips roll forward, her big ass lifting off the mattress in a slow, deliberate grind. The wet sound of her fingers fills the quiet room; she doesn’t rush. When she pulls them free, they shine. She holds them up for the lens, then slips them back in deeper, eyes half-lidded. “I could do this all day,” she whispers, voice tight with pleasure, and keeps working herself until her thighs start to tremble.