Midnight in Vegas bled neon—crimson, violet, molten gold—across the cotton sheets when I invited a local fan to my hotel room, the fabric already clinging to my damp skin as my black lace balconette bra shoved my tits high and garter straps snapped against my thighs while I crawled back, bare feet curling into the bed. His bronze, sweat-slick frame eclipsed the glow, curls wild, Mr. J’s red light throbbing in the shadows as I yanked him down and dropped to my knees on the floor, his cock throbbing heavy in my hand—thick, veined, salty pre-cum coating my tongue as I swallowed him deep, lips stretching, throat relaxing to take every inch, bobbing hard and gagging wetly, eyes watering, his groans vibrating through me while Mr. J zoomed in on my smeared lipstick and drool-slick shaft. He hauled me up, ripping the thong aside and shoving my legs wide, his tongue diving in—hot, relentless laps at my clit, sucking my folds, fingers plunging deep as I bucked against his face, juices soaking his chin, my cries echoing off the glass—before I straddled him, sinking onto his bare length with a gasp, riding hard with hips grinding, tits bouncing free from the lace, nails clawing his chest as I slammed down and his thrusts met mine in brutal rhythm, cotton twisting beneath us. He flipped me to all fours for doggy-style pounding—ass high, hands bruising my hips, cock spearing deep, balls slapping wetly against my thighs as I screamed into the sheets and arched back for more—then pushed me flat on my belly, prone and pinned, rutting savage from behind, his weight crushing me into the mattress, every thrust grinding my clit against the fabric. Rolling me to my side, he hooked a leg over his hip, spooning in deep—slow at first, then feral, side-thrusts hitting that spot until my body quaked—before finally taking me missionary, legs wrapped tight, eyes locked as he drove home mercilessly, sweat dripping, until he snarled and erupted with scalding ropes flooding me, spilling past ruined lace and soaking the sheets in glossy streaks while I clenched around the mess, trembling, black lingerie twisted and drenched, Mr. J’s lens zoomed on the creamy ruin dripping from my swollen lips