Her A Late Night Call

The phone vibrated so hard it fell off the nightstand. 2:11 a.m. Unknown number. The message was one line:

“Last-minute anal-only porn casting. Warehouse 17. $8,000 cash if you leave gaping and swallow like a pro. Reply YES in 60 seconds or we call the next girl.”

My pussy clenched before my brain even woke up. I typed YES with shaking thumbs.

Eighteen minutes later a matte-black Sprinter van pulled up. The driver threw me a black silk blindfold and a single instruction: “No talking until he says.” I tied it tight, heart hammering against my ribs. The ride felt endless, every speed bump sending a jolt straight between my legs.

When the blindfold came off I was standing on cold concrete under surgical-white LEDs. One black leather daybed. Five 8K cameras on robotic arms. One man.

He was already naked, built like a heavyweight boxer gone rogue, cock hanging half-hard and thicker than my wrist. A single gold chain glinted against his chest.

“Name’s Kane,” he said, voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. “You’re late. Strip. Heels stay.”

I peeled off the tiny black dress I’d thrown on (no bra, no panties, just a silver body chain that framed my tits and dipped between my ass cheeks). The metal was cold against my skin. He watched every inch disappear, eyes dark.

“Hands and knees on the bed. Face that camera. Spread your cheeks and beg me to ruin your ass.”

I crawled forward, the leather warm from the lights. I reached back, pulled myself open, and looked straight into the lens.

“Please, sir. Fuck me. I’ll do anything!”

He stepped behind me. I heard the snap of a lube bottle, felt the cold drip down my crack, then the blunt pressure of his thumb pushing inside. One knuckle. Two. A second thumb joined, stretching me open while the cameras zoomed in.

“Relax,” he warned.

I exhaled and pushed back. The head of his cock replaced his thumbs (no warning, no mercy). One brutal shove and he sank halfway in. I screamed, raw and real, tears springing instantly. He didn’t pause, just gripped my hips and fed the rest in until his balls pressed against my dripping pussy.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he growled. 

A remote arm slid between my thighs, lens inches from where I was stretched obscene around him. He pulled back slow, my ring clinging to every vein, then slammed balls-deep. The impact punched the air from my lungs. Again. Again. The bed rocked, leather squeaking, my tits swinging like pendulums.

“Fuck, yes!” I sobbed. “Harder, please.”

He laughed and shifted gears (short, vicious thrusts that battered my second ring, then long strokes that dragged across every nerve). My clit throbbed untouched, pussy drooling onto the leather in steady strings. After what felt like hours he yanked out, leaving me gaping and empty.

I spun, dropped to my knees, and took him straight down my throat. The taste (lube, my ass, his sweat) made me moan around the invasion. He fucked my face until mascara ran black rivers down my cheeks and spit bubbled at the corners of my mouth.

“Back on the bed. Legs over my shoulders. I want that asshole pointed at the ceiling.”

I scrambled up. He folded me like a doll, knees to my ears, body chain digging into my skin. The new angle let him sink deeper than before. I felt him in my stomach. He railed me so hard my vision blurred, the cameras catching every obscene detail: my gaping hole, my untouched pussy clenching on air, the way my toes curled.

I came without warning (a violent, full-body seizure, pussy squirting in hot arcs that splashed his abs). My ass clamped rhythmically around him, milking him. He roared, slammed deep, and unloaded. Pulse after thick pulse flooded my guts until I felt heavy and full.

He stayed buried while the cameras circled, then pulled out slowly. A river of cum followed, pouring out of my hole and pooling beneath me.

He wasn’t done. He dragged me to the edge of the bed, bent me over, and slid back in while I was still loose and dripping. Second round was faster, meaner. He spanked my clit with every thrust until I came again, screaming myself hoarse.

When he finally pulled out the second time my hole stayed open (a perfect dark O the size of a silver dollar). He zoomed every camera in.

“Show them the money shot.”

He jerked his slick cock twice and exploded across my face (thick ropes over my eyes, lips, tongue). I opened wide, caught the last spurts, and swallowed noisily for the mic.

“Eight grand base,” he said, tossing banded stacks onto my cum-soaked back. “Three extra for the double load and that gape that won’t close.

I peeled hundreds off my skin, already counting. My phone buzzed in my discarded dress.

Unknown number: “Round two. 10 p.m. Wear white. It won’t stay clean.”

I smiled through the mess on my face, ass still throbbing, pussy still dripping.

I typed YES while his cum dried on my tits.