Her legs went on for fucking miles—long, toned, lightly oiled so they caught the low light like liquid gold. Her tits, heavy and perfect, swayed under the thin silk, nipples hard as diamonds and stabbing insistently through the lace bra beneath, the robe gaping wide enough with every movement to flash the deep, shadowed valley between them and the faint red marks his teeth had left earlier.

Phei's sweatpants situation went from "manageable" to "painfully critical" in the space of a heartbeat, his cock thickening fast against the soft fabric, the outline becoming impossible to hide as she sauntered closer.

"Even a caveman could do it," she purred, voice low and dripping with amusement. "Point. Half-press to focus. Full press to shoot. We'll do the rest, my horny idiot."

She leaned in to adjust his grip on the camera, the robe slipping further off one shoulder to expose the full swell of her breast, nipple barely contained by black lace, the areola peeking dark and pebbled.

Her scent—warm skin, expensive perfume, and the unmistakable musk of a woman already dripping for what came next—wrapped around him like a drug.

"Is 'horny idiot' my official title now?"

"Would you prefer 'Our Personal Photographer Who Agreed To This While His Dick Was Still Dripping Down My Thighs'?"

He thought about it for half a second, eyes helplessly dropping to the way her robe gaped again, revealing the flat plane of her stomach and the tiny damp spot growing on her thong.

"…Horny idiot is fine."

Sierra's smile was victorious.

"Thought so." She stepped closer, robe brushing his leg, eyes locked on his like a predator savoring the moment before the pounce. "Now. Where do you want us first?"

Maddie leaned in from the other side, robe slipping further, voice a breathy whisper against his ear.

"We've got the bed. The couch. The tub. The backdrop. The kitchen island if you're feeling adventurous..."

Phei looked down at the camera in his hands.

Then at the two women currently weaponizing beauty and lingerie against his last remaining brain cell.

His dragon throbbed in agreement.

They started in the living room.

Sierra went first—

She'd always wielded her beauty like a loaded gun she'd been dry-firing since puberty, and today she was ready to pull the trigger.

She dropped the robe.

Phei's brain flat-lined. Full system crash. Blue screen of throbbing, aching dick.

Black lace so sheer it was criminal.

The bralette was nothing more than two gossamer triangles stitched together by desperation and evil intent—fabric so translucent her thick, dark nipples stabbed straight through, already stiff and straining, the wide areolas visible in perfect detail beneath the mesh.

The matching thong was a joke: one soaked scrap of lace stretched over her mound, the thin string long since swallowed by the plump, glistening lips of her cunt. Those lips were swollen, flushed deep rose, the fabric glued to her slit in a lewd, perfect camel-toe that pulsed faintly with her heartbeat.

A fat drop of arousal clung to the bottom of the gusset, trembling, threatening to fall.

Garter belt. Stockings. Four-inch heels. Because apparently the plan was to murder him slowly and leave the body hard.

"Well?" Sierra sank onto the fainting couch like a queen claiming her throne in a porn palace, one long leg extended, the other bent, arms stretched languidly above her head.

The pose lifted her heavy tits until the bralette strained at its limits, nipples dragging against the lace with every breath.

Her back arched just enough to make her hips roll forward, the soaked thong pulling tighter, outlining every slick fold. "Are you going to take pictures, baby, or just stand there drooling on the floor for a body you've seen hundreds of times?"

Phei snapped his mouth shut.

Raised the camera.

Realized his hands were shaking and his cock was already leaking a wet spot through his sweatpants—visible, obscene, impossible to hide.

Click.

"Good boy," Sierra purred, voice low and filthy. She shifted, slow and deliberate, and the bralette shifted with her—one fat nipple slipping free entirely, dark and glossy, begging for his mouth. "Now closer. This angle makes my hips look wrong… unless you want to see how wet I am already."

He moved in, knees nearly buckling.

Click.

"Mmm. Much better." She spread her thighs wider, the thong stretching until the lace parted around her clit—a swollen, shiny pearl shoving the fabric aside. "Now from above. Not too high—you'll miss the good parts. Right there. Perfect."

Click. Click. Click.

She flowed through poses like liquid sex. On her back, spine arched in a dramatic bow that thrust her tits skyward, nipples spearing the air, thong yanked so tight the string vanished between her dripping pussy lips, the outline of her cunt crystal-clear—puffy, slick, openly weeping arousal that trickled down toward her ass.

Then on her stomach, looking back over one shoulder with heavy-lidded fuck-me-until-I-can't-walk eyes, ass raised high, so the string disappeared completely between those perfect, jiggling cheeks, the tiny strip of lace at the front barely containing her clit.

Then—casual as sin—she reached back, hooked two fingers in the thong, and pulled it aside.

Just… exposed herself. Completely. Her bare pussy gleaming in the golden afternoon light—lips parted and glistening, inner folds dark pink and soaked, clit throbbing visibly, a thick strand of slick stretching from her hole to the ruined lace.

"Get this angle," she ordered, voice husky, spreading herself a little wider with those same fingers so he could see everything—the tight pucker of her ass, the creamy arousal coating her thighs, the way her cunt clenched greedily around nothing.

"I want you to remember exactly how wet posing for you makes me."

Click.

Phei was going to combust. His cock jerked hard enough to slap his stomach under the sweatpants, pre-come soaking through in a dark, spreading stain. He was one heartbeat away from dropping the camera and burying his face between her legs right there on the couch.

"Top off," Sierra decided, sitting up with a slow, predatory smile. She reached behind her back, fingers finding the clasp of the bralette. "The lighting's too perfect to waste on fabric."

The clasp snapped open.

The bralette fell away.

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