Backstage of 'The maestro and his model'

You're stuck with Walton again. Guy wants you right there while he shoots. Brossman’s in a paint-smeared shirt, brush in hand, and Cage is buck naked on a wooden stool with her legs kicked open. Paint’s drying on her nipples already. She’s wet—obvious, glistening—and keeps squeezing two fingers inside herself like she’s giving Brossman fresh inspiration with every squelch. When the juices run down her thigh, Brossman swipes them up, smearing streaks of clear slick across her belly and right between her tits. He drags his cock out, thick and red, slaps the heavy head against her clit hard enough to make her gasp, then shoves right in. Full thrust, hips slapping, her ass bouncing off the stool with wet, sticky sounds. Camera’s right in close; you can count every ridge of his shaft as it drags back out, shiny with her mess. She laughs, tells him to paint her cunt with it, and Walton just mutters under his breath, rolling tape, swearing the lighting’s gonna catch every drip.