Pornstar wannabe

Ciara Bugatti sits on the edge of the couch, twenty years old and built like every camera craves her. The black of her hair falls in a sharp line across pale shoulders, drawing the eye down the clean slope of breasts and the tight taper of her waist. She doesn’t smile for the sake of it; she fixes the lens with steady eyes that say she’s already decided how this afternoon ends. She came here to work. When the men move closer, her hands are first to act—one palm closing around the thicker cock, the other guiding the second between parted lips. She takes the head, sucks, then pushes lower until her throat opens around the full length. Saliva strings from her chin when she pulls back to breathe. They turn her face-down on the cushions, and the first cock finds the wet heat of her cunt. The second presses slick against the tighter ring of her ass, working in with slow pressure until both men fill her. Ciara’s hands fist the couch fabric. Each thrust jolts her forward; the double stretch drags a raw sound from her throat. One cock slips free, then drives back inside. The rhythm builds until the room is nothing but wet slaps and her quick breaths. The man in her ass pulls out first, paints her lower back and the up-curve of one cheek. The second follows, finishing across her mouth and cheek, leaving the gloss of come on her lips. She drags two fingers through it and tastes them without looking away from the lens.