Anal pour l'art

Lindsey studies Victor with those pale eyes of hers, brush moving in slow, measured strokes. Her body leans forward, nipples brushing the edge of the canvas, the cool air teasing them stiff. Victor watches her the same way he would a finished painting—wanting to touch the frame, needing to know what lies underneath. She sets the brush aside. The next stroke she makes is with her mouth, sliding down his cock until her throat tightens around him and her spit runs down her chin in shiny threads. She pulls off, gasping, lips shiny, then turns without a word. Hands on the low stool, she arches her back, spreads herself open and waits. Victor stands, presses the head of his cock against the tight ring she offers, and pushes. Lindsey groans, a long, low sound as he sinks deeper, each inch claiming her. When he bottoms out, she rocks back against him, taking everything. The rhythm builds fast—hard, wet thrusts that slap against her ass while her fingers slip between her legs, working her clit in tight circles. She comes with a sharp cry, body clenching hard around him, and Victor follows, flooding her with thick pulses that trickle down her thighs when he pulls free. She stays bent over, flushed, catching her breath, while the portrait watches from its easel, still unfinished.