Anna's Vintage Vixens 1

Anna de Ville's shoot went smoother than butter. Vintage silk and lace draped on curves like they were made for her. Now the photographer and Kitty stand alone among empty garment racks. He watches her strip the last gown, skin warm from the lights, and his brain just slips a gear. 'Stay like that a sec,' he says, sliding the camera back up. She smirks, half-naked already, thong cutting a thin line between plump cheeks. He tells her to peel it off, keep the stockings, lean into the rack. She does. He fires away, lens eating every detail: pink nipples stiff from the cool room, hips tilted just enough to show how her cunt peeks between smooth thighs. 'Spread for me,' he mutters, and she arches, fingers sliding down to part her lips, glistening already. The shutter clicks again and again, catching the wet sound of her own touch, the tiny, cocky grin she tosses over her shoulder like she owns every dirty frame he's taking.