His massive member sprang free. He let go of Emma, and as she lost balance, his weight was deftly on her shoulders, forcing her to kneel. The pace was relentless as the two men pumped in and out of her. He ached for her. His right arm had traveled from her chin, collecting her natural spit-lubricant, over her smooth stomach, into her shorts and between her legs.
The camera focused in on her face. The low wooden ceiling, like the floor and walls, was painted black. Tears were flowing from her eyes, but slowly she was beginning to buck with their movements and began to yelp once more. The club was dark and dank. Streams of cum lashed her face. Pulling apart the thin rubber, he tore the back from her shorts, then threw it to the crowd. The subtlety had left him as his desire took hold. He slowly glided out of her, then in he thrust. The camera relaying the pictures to the screen had changed. Probably the best since Britney? He was in ecstasy. As the torrent of cum subsided she took hold of his cock and guided the tip into her mouth and sucked the last of his seed out of him. The pink cotton vest hugged her slender torso, as if vacuum-formed. He wore all black. She lay sprawled face down with her ass in the air. As her reflexes subsided, he began to build up a rhythm. But this was just sport. Her throat was closing around him. She was a cheap whore. All around her men circled — all dressed in dark clothes and some with their faces obscured — leering and jeering, yet not touching. Emma bucked and gargled and screamed and yelped as orgasm after orgasm rifled through her. As he stood near upright, her back was held to his chest with her head lolling back onto his shoulder. And rushing from stage left came a smaller black man. He would lick at her face, dunk fingers into her mouth, again coaxing the young girl to suck, and he would always throw in the occasional spank for sport. The big screen had chosen a wide angled shot.
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