SexArt - Episode 7

In the opening shot, their mouths meet with an urgency that leaves no room for thought. She presses him back against the velvet headboard, fingers already working the buttons of his shirt. Her tongue traces his lower lip as she straddles him, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate grind. He exhales hard when her hand slips between them, finding him already hard beneath fine wool. She smiles against his mouth, thumb stroking the head of his cock through fabric. The camera lingers on her fingers—slow, teasing—before she frees him completely. She strokes once, twice, the wet click of skin on skin rising over the low thrum of the soundtrack. His hands find her thighs, push the silk of her dress higher until the camera catches the flash of bare skin and the dark lace stretched tight over her cunt. She leans in, teeth at his ear, and whispers something that makes his cock twitch in her grip. Then she sinks down—slow, tight, wet—taking him to the hilt in one fluid motion. Her breath stutters. His hands tighten at her waist. They move together, measured at first, then faster, the slap of skin punctuating each thrust. She rides him hard, breasts swaying, hair falling into her face. He watches her with hooded eyes, thumb circling her clit until her rhythm falters and her thighs begin to tremble. She comes with a soft, broken sound, cunt pulsing around him. He follows seconds later, gripping her hips, pulling her down as he spills inside her. For a moment they stay locked together, breathing hard, skin flushed. Then she leans forward, kisses him once—soft, almost tender—and the screen fades to black.