The Pleaser

The studio lights hummed above us, casting that warm, fake-gold glow that made everything look like a dream you could touch. I stood with my back against the seamless paper backdrop, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.

"Okay, Lena." Mark lowered his camera, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "You sure about this?"

"Stop asking." I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra, letting it slide down my arms. "You wanted to try something new. So did I."

His breath caught. I saw it — that little hitch in his chest — and it made me feel powerful, naked on that small stage, the air cool on my skin. He stepped closer, still holding the camera like a shield.

"I want to watch you," he said, voice lower now. "Touch yourself. For me."

A shiver ran down my spine. I let my hand drift down my stomach, fingers grazing the waistband of my jeans. "You just gonna stand there with that thing?"

He laughed, setting the camera on a nearby stool. "Fair point."

His mouth found mine before I could say another word. Hard, hungry, his stubble scraping my chin. I moaned into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until I could feel every button of his shirt pressed against my bare chest.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he whispered against my neck, his hands sliding down, gripping my ass through the denim. "I've been thinking about this all week."

"Yeah?" I gasped as his teeth grazed my collarbone. "Show me."

He didn't need telling twice. His fingers worked my jeans open, shoving them down my thighs along with my panties. I stepped out of them, kicking the pile aside, and he pushed me back against the backdrop — that paper crinkling, cool and strange against my skin.

He knelt. His mouth found my pussy like he was starving.

"Oh god, Mark..." My head fell back, my hands gripping his shoulders. His tongue was hot, insistent, circling my clit in slow, deliberate strokes that made my knees buckle. I could feel his breath, warm and ragged, against my wetness.

"You taste so good," he murmured, looking up at me. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "I could do this all day."

"Don't stop." I threaded my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. "Please."

He didn't. He licked and sucked, his tongue dipping inside me, then back to my clit, until I was trembling, my hips rocking against his face. The sounds I made — little gasps and moans — echoed in the empty studio.

"Mark, I'm gonna..."

He hummed against me, and that vibration sent me over. I came hard, my body convulsing, my fingers tight in his hair, a cry tearing from my throat.

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a bastard. "Good?"

I pulled him to me, kissing him, tasting myself on his lips. "Your turn."

I pushed him back onto a wooden crate that sat nearby, unzipped his jeans, and took his cock in my hand. It was thick, warm, already slick at the tip. I licked along the shaft, slow, watching his face.

"Lena..." His head fell back, his hands gripping the edge of the crate.

I took him in my mouth, deep, all the way until my nose pressed against his skin. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and I felt it in my chest. I moved my head up and down, my tongue tracing the vein underneath, my hand working the base.

"Fuck... wait." He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me up. "I want to be inside you."

He turned me around, bent me over the crate. The wood was rough against my palms. I felt him behind me, his cock nudging my entrance, teasing.

"Please," I whispered.

He pushed in.

The stretch was perfect — that first, deep thrust that filled me completely. I gasped, my fingers curling against the wood. He started slow, each stroke deliberate, his hands on my hips, pulling me back onto him.

"Look at us," he breathed. "In a fucking photo studio."

I laughed, breathless. "I'm gonna have to... work here again..."

"Good." He slapped my ass, hard. The sting shot through me, making me clench around him. "You'll think of me every time."

He sped up, his balls slapping against my clit, that wet sound filling the room. I was already close again, the edge so near I could taste it.

"I'm gonna cum," I gasped.

"Cum for me." His voice was strained, desperate. "Cum on my cock."

I did. My orgasm ripped through me, my body shaking, my moans turning into something almost animal. He followed a second later, slamming into me, groaning my name as he came deep inside.

We stayed like that for a long moment, panting, sweaty, the only sound our ragged breaths and the hum of the lights.

He pulled out slowly, and I turned to face him. He looked wrecked — hair messy, shirt untucked, that dopey, satisfied smile on his face.

"So," I said, my voice hoarse. "New things. Good?"

"Best idea you've ever had." He pulled me into his arms, kissing my forehead. "But next time, I'm keeping the camera."