Adult Film School - Episode 7

They set the camera on the nightstand, pressed record, and played their roles. He wore his sheriff’s badge clipped to an open uniform shirt. She knelt on the bed in nothing but the silver handcuffs, nipples stiff from the ceiling fan. He circled her once, boots heavy on the hardwood, then caught her chin and tilted her face up. “Hands behind your back, ma’am.” The cuffs clicked louder than they needed to. He pushed her shoulders down until her cheek met the sheets, ass up, knees spread. His belt whispered free. He stroked himself once, twice, then dragged the head of his cock between her folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in her. When he drove in, the bed jolted; she gasped, the sound sharp and surprised. He fucked her steady, one palm between her shoulder blades, the other gripping the short chain of the cuffs so every thrust yanked her arms. Sweat gathered at the small of her back and slid down the cleft of her ass. He thumbed her there, pressing just enough to make her whimper into the mattress. “Tell the camera what you are,” he said. “A filthy little criminal,” she answered, voice hoarse. He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and shoved back in before she could catch her breath. Her cuffed wrists bounced against her stomach while he pounded her, the badge swinging above her face. She hooked her heels behind his thighs and met every thrust, the wet slap of skin filling the quiet room. When she came she arched hard, thighs shaking, a cry tearing loose that the mic caught perfectly. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep, pulsing inside her while the red light on the camera kept blinking.