Prologue

Lara had the house to herself that day. He was busy, away until late, leaving her with hours to fill. She drifted through her chores without rush — folding laundry, rinsing glasses, humming to herself as she tidied. The quiet made her smile; she liked it, the little satisfaction of getting things in order.

By mid-afternoon, the sun called to her. She felt restless, that low hum in her belly that always came when she was left alone too long. A solo trip to the beach sounded perfect. Just her, the water, and the heat.

But as she slipped into her bikini and gathered her towel, a wicked thought curled through her mind. She reached for her phone and grinned. Better bring the camera .. just in case.

Beach Selfies

The afternoon sun hung low, painting everything gold. Lara stood near the shoreline, her towel spread out on the sand, phone in hand. At first, it was simple — a quick smile, a playful peace sign, her bikini top tugged into place.

But Lara knew. She always knew.

Three men had settled nearby. Not too close, but close enough to see her. Their glances lingered longer than casual. And that little spark in her belly ignited — the one that made her skin hum, that made her lips curl in a secret grin.

She remembered why she’d slipped her phone into her bag in the first place — just in case. A cheeky shot or two to send later, something to make him grin and groan when he got home. Maybe even one naughty enough for her private folder.

So she angled the phone down for a shot of her cleavage, biting her lip as she tugged her straps tighter. Then she lay back on her towel, arm stretched high, capturing the curve of her chest, her stomach, the triangle of bikini bottoms barely covering her.

A glance up — yes, they were watching. Pretending not to. That made her grin wider.

So she shifted.

She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand, her phone angled just right to catch her ass in the frame. Her bikini rode higher with the pose, the cheeky cut flashing more curve than it should. She knew it. She wanted it. She arched her back a little, tapped her phone screen, let the shutter click.

“Mmm .. perfect,” she whispered to herself, licking her lips, eyes flicking toward her audience.

The men’s attention sharpened. They were hooked now.

Sitting up, Lara spread her legs just enough — not obscene, but not modest either. Her phone tilted for the shot, the triangle of fabric stretched tight between her thighs. She felt the faintest tingle there, a warm little throb that made her shift slightly on the towel — not full arousal, but the first whisper of it.

She giggled, brushing hair from her face, deliberately licking a drop of sweat from her upper lip as she snapped another picture.

She peeked up again. Yes. Their eyes were locked.

Her heart hammered, heat rushing between her legs. She lay back once more, this time with one knee bent, her phone angled low from below her stomach. From the right angle, the bikini bottom all but disappeared, the shape of her lips pressed against the thin fabric.

Click.

She moaned softly, knowing the camera couldn’t capture sound — but maybe they could see it on her lips.

By now, she wasn’t just taking selfies. She was performing, every pose deliberate, every giggle meant for them as much as her phone. The sand stuck to her thigh where her skin grew damp, her bikini clung tighter, and her grin turned wicked.

She licked her lips again, tilted her head back, and snapped one more picture — a half-smile, eyes closed, legs apart, the ocean in the background.

Her whisper was low, greedy, meant only for herself — and anyone close enough to hear.

“Mmm .. yes. They’re watching. And I love it.”

Beach Helpers

Click.

Another shot of Lara sprawled on her towel, one knee bent, bikini clinging in ways it shouldn’t. She glanced up, smirk curling her lips. The three men weren’t even pretending now — their eyes locked on her with every shift, every pose.

And then .. they moved.

One of them stood, brushing sand off his legs, smiling sheepishly as if it were nothing. “Want me to hold the phone for you?” he asked, voice casual but eyes hungry. His friends followed, closing the gap between towels.

Lara giggled, biting her lip. She tilted her phone, pretending to think it over. “Mmm .. maybe. You think you can get my good side?”

They chuckled nervously, but one reached out, steadying the phone in his big hand. He crouched low, aiming down as Lara leaned back on her elbows, arching her chest toward the lens. The screen glowed — oh yes, he was filming, not just snapping.

She moaned softly, licking her lips. “Closer. I like it close. Catch everything.”

The second knelt by her side, brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder. His fingertips lingered, grazing her skin as though “fixing” her pose. “Here, tilt your chin up,” he murmured, his other hand hovering just above her chest as though guiding her posture.

The third stood at her feet, grinning. “You should try standing shots. Against the water, maybe.” His gaze dipped — he wasn’t looking at the ocean.

Lara’s pulse raced. She was glowing now, heat rising through her chest, her thighs pressing together. She loved it — loved that they’d taken the bait, that they were part of it.

She shifted deliberately, letting her bikini strap slide off one shoulder. Her nipples visibly strained against the thin fabric, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Mmm .. maybe you’re right. Maybe I do need some help to get the best angles.”

The man holding her phone swallowed hard, zooming tighter on the curve of her tits — full, high, the smooth brown skin gleaming under the sun, her large dark nipples pressing hard against the thin red triangles of fabric. His hand shook slightly, betraying his own excitement.

The second brushed more sand from her thigh — slowly, too slowly to be innocent. “You want me in the photo too?” he teased.

Lara giggled, head tilting back, her tongue slipping across her lip. “Mmmm .. maybe. Or maybe I just want you close. For the shot.”

The third chuckled, crouching at her feet now. “Then let’s make it a real shoot.”

And just like that, Lara wasn’t taking selfies anymore. She was on display, three men orbiting her, each pretending to “help,” but really part of her performance. Every new pose was hotter, every brush of their hands bolder — and Lara, shameless, thrived in it.

Her whisper would later be low and filthy, meant for her husband:

“I knew exactly what I was doing. And baby .. so did they.”

Wandering Hands

The man with her phone grinned. “C’mon, let’s get a group shot.”

Lara giggled, biting her lip. “Mmm .. fine, but only if I’m in the middle.”

They laughed, lining up around her — one crouched at her side, another standing just behind, the third at her other hip. She lifted the phone herself, arm stretched high, snapping the first shot with her trademark pout, the second with her mouth open in mock surprise.

That’s when the hands started.

The one beside her “slipped” his arm around her waist, his palm brushing lower over her bikini bottom. She felt his fingers trace the edge of the fabric — not quite pulling, not quite leaving. Her nipples hardened instantly, pressing against the thin triangle of her bikini top.

Click.

The second leaned in from behind, his hand on her shoulder. “Tilt your head toward me,” he murmured. His chest pressed into her back, and his other hand “balanced” on her hip — just low enough to graze the swell of her ass.

Click.

The third crouched lower, his hand settling just above her knee. But his thumb stroked once, casually, brushing upward along her inner thigh. She gasped — a real one — then covered it with a giggle for the camera, arching her back and sticking her tongue out like it was all just playful.

Click.

Another shot. This one filthier than the last.

Their confidence grew with every snap. One hand lingered longer at her hip, tugging her bikini strap down her thigh just an inch. Another squeezed her waist, thumb brushing the underside of her breast as though “helping” her posture. The third stroked her thigh higher, dangerously close, his grin wide, his eyes hungry.

Lara moaned under her breath, but into the lens she was all smiles, licking her lip for the next photo. “Mmm, these are coming out hot,” she whispered, loud enough for them to hear.

Click.

The men laughed nervously, but none pulled away. Their hands were bolder now — tugging, squeezing, brushing too close to be accidents. Lara let them. More than that: she leaned into it. She arched her chest into the hand near her tit. She spread her thighs just a little wider when the thumb stroked higher. She bent her head back against the man behind her, letting his breath tickle her ear.

Click.

The group shots didn’t look innocent anymore. They looked like heat — four bodies tangled on a beach towel, her bikini stretched thin, her smile wicked, their hands everywhere.

And Lara? She was glowing.

Later she’d whisper into her husband’s ear:

“They thought they were just helping with photos. But baby .. they were helping me put on a show. And the hotter it got, the more I wanted them to keep going.”

Hands on Lara

Click.

Another shot. Lara giggled, phone angled high, her red bikini glowing against her skin.

But now the hands were everywhere.

The man at her side slid his palm higher, cupping her waist, thumb brushing beneath the swell of her breast. Lara gasped, then grinned into the lens, arching her chest forward. Her own hand came up, covering his — not to stop him, but to press him firmer against her tit.

Click.

Behind her, another man rested his hands on her hips. He tugged her back against his chest, his thumbs slipping just under the straps of her bottoms. Lara giggled, twisting slightly, her own hand sneaking back to hook his wrist and drag it lower. For the camera, it looked like playful posing. But the tension in his grip gave it away.

Click.

The third man knelt at her thigh, his hand sliding higher, fingers brushing her skin just under the bikini edge. Lara’s thighs parted slightly — subtle, deliberate. She placed her own hand on his wrist, pushing him higher, guiding him where she wanted. He froze, then grinned wide, fingers spreading against her inner thigh.

Click.

The photo captured it all — Lara’s smile wide, tongue teasing her lip, three men’s hands on her body, her own hands wrapped over theirs, guiding, daring, demanding.

She moaned softly, whispering for the lens. “Mmm .. make sure you catch this angle.”

The hands roamed bolder. One squeezed her tit through the thin triangle, her nipple stiffening against his thumb. Lara arched into it, her hand pulling the strap aside so the camera saw more. Another hand tugged at her hip, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her bottoms. She spread her legs wider, clutching his wrist, holding him there.

The third stroked her stomach, slow, deliberate, his hand brushing lower until his knuckles grazed the dampness beneath her bikini. Lara gasped, then grabbed his hand with both of hers, pressing him harder against her mound, grinning straight into the lens.

Click.

Now it was undeniable. Not just a group shot. A show. Four hands on Lara, her own hands encouraging, exposing, guiding every touch into the frame. Her bikini askew, her nipples straining, her thighs parted, her smile filthy.

And that was the real hook. Any girl might blush and let a photo be taken, but Lara wasn’t “letting” anything happen — she was directing it. Orchestrating every pose, every hand, every angle as though the camera existed for her alone. That shift — from passive to performer — lit them up. Their excitement wasn’t just about touching her. It was about being pulled into her show.

Then, she whispered low, her lips curling around the words:

“That’s it, baby. Hands all over me  .. and make sure the camera sees everything.”

Click.

Lara giggled, tongue poking out, phone angled down. But now? The hands weren’t just wandering. They were inside.

The man at her hip had slipped his fingers under the thin strip of her bikini bottoms, his knuckles brushing her mound. Lara gasped, loud enough for the microphone, then grabbed his wrist with her own hand — not pushing him away, but pressing him firmer against her. She arched her hips into his palm, smiling wickedly into the lens.

Click.

Behind her, the man at her waist slid his fingers beneath the strap of her top, tugging it down until her nipple slipped free. His thumb rolled across it, her breast bouncing in his grip. Lara moaned, eyes half-closed, her own hand pulling the strap further aside.

Click.

The one crouched by her thigh dipped his fingers higher now, sliding under the fabric, finding her damp and swollen. Lara’s head dropped back, mouth open, moaning for the lens. “Ohhh .. yes. Keep filming.” Her own hand pressed his deeper, her thighs opening to welcome him.

Click.

The shoot had changed.

Lara tilted her head toward the man beside her, their faces inches apart. At first it was playful — lips puckered, a silly “kissy-face” pose for the camera. But then his mouth met hers, and it didn’t break. It lingered. His tongue teased hers, his hand squeezing her breast harder. Lara moaned into the kiss, sloppy and loud, her arm wrapping around his neck as though pulling him closer for the shot — but really because she didn’t want to stop.

Click.

The photo froze them in time: Lara’s nipple bare, her thighs spread, a man’s hand between her legs, another’s tongue in her mouth. A kiss that was supposed to be a pose .. now too deep, too messy, too inevitable.

Her phone dropped a little, shaking in the man’s hand as he captured it. The shutter clicked again anyway — proof that Lara had crossed the line, proof that she was no longer just posing.

Her whisper was low, greedy, meant for the men and for the lens:

“Mmm .. don’t stop now. I want the next photo to show more. I want the cameras to catch exactly how far this goes.”

And just like that, the outcome wasn’t just possible. It was inevitable.

The Shoot Turns

The photo caught it: Lara laughing into a kiss, her nipple bare, her thighs open with a man’s hand deep between them.

And then .. there was no going back.

The man at her waist tugged her bikini top fully down, letting it dangle by one strap before peeling it off altogether. Lara giggled, arched her chest proudly into the air, her tits bouncing for the camera. “Mmm .. better angle now, don’t you think?” she teased, squeezing them together with her own hands while the shutters went off.

Click.

The one kneeling at her thighs pulled the strip of red fabric lower, lower, until it slid past her knees, then all the way down to her ankles. He left it there, twisted and useless, like a ribbon around her skin. Lara sighed, her legs falling wider, bare now under the golden sun.

Click.

The photo froze her like that — naked but for the bikini at her ankles, her tits bare, her lips parted in a sloppy kiss, her thighs parted for the hands between them.

Her body hummed. The pretense was over. Now it was a show.

She rolled onto her back, one knee bent, one leg stretched, giving the perfect angle of her spread pussy glistening in the sun. The man crouching at her side angled the phone lower, closer, capturing every shine, every twitch.

Click.

Another man leaned down, kissing her neck, his hand cupping and squeezing her breast. She tilted her head for him, arching into it, moaning loud enough for the microphone. “Ohhh, yes… hold me like that. Film it.”

Click.

She smiled into the lens, her eyes flashing with something the men couldn’t see. Because for Lara, it wasn’t just about the moment — it was about the memory. She wanted it all captured, every hand, every moan, every filthy frame. The men thought they were lucky to touch her, but they didn’t know the truth: this was part of her plan. Later, when the lights were low and the projector flickered to life, he would see everything. And that, more than anything, was what drove her to perform harder.

Click.

The third traced his fingers over her stomach, down to her mound, spreading her lips with two fingers for the camera. Lara gasped, then grinned wickedly, her own hand guiding him wider. “Show them everything,” she whispered, loud enough for the others to hear. “Don’t leave anything hidden.”

Click.

The men laughed nervously, but their eyes were wild, their cocks swelling visibly through their shorts. They weren’t just helping anymore — they were part of it. And Lara loved it.

She bent her knee higher, pulling her ankle-bound bikini taut as though it were an accessory, opening herself to the lens with her fingers. Her lips parted, her voice low, dirty, commanding:

“Take the next shot like this. Show them how wet I am. Show them how ready I’ve been since the first click.”

Click.

The photo caught her glowing, hair tousled, tits full, pussy spread, men’s hands all over her — her costume nothing but an ornament around her ankles.

The outcome was inevitable now. The camera would keep flashing. The men would keep “helping.” And Lara? She’d keep posing dirtier, greedier, wetter .. until there was no line left to cross.

Crossing the Line

The camera caught her spread on the sand, bikini twisted useless at her ankles, three pairs of hands all over her. But Lara wasn’t shy, not one bit. She grinned straight into the lens, tits heaving, thighs wide, as if she was meant to be filmed like this.

One of the men, his voice low and eager, leaned closer. “C’mon… show me your ass.”

Lara’s grin sharpened. She turned her head toward the lens, licking her lips.

“You want a show?” she purred, her voice husky. “Then watch.”

She rolled onto her knees, arching her back so her ass faced the lens, her pussy glistening between her thighs. She reached back with both hands, spreading herself wide, moaning dramatically so the microphones would catch it. “Get closer,” she teased, eyes flashing at the man holding the phone. “It’s opening time.”

Click.

The lens drank her in — the curve of her ass high in the sun, the pink glisten of her lips parting, the shine of dampness catching the light. Every detail was framed: the flex of her thighs as she held herself open, the way her hole twitched as if it was begging to be filled.

The men sucked in their breath as one. For all their nerves before, now their hunger showed raw on their faces. One muttered, “Holy fuck…” under his breath, his cock straining against his shorts. Another leaned closer, almost forgetting the camera in his hand, desperate just to see more with his own eyes. The third shifted on the sand, adjusting himself shamelessly, grinning wide like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Her rear was the star of it— full, round, shamelessly arched high so the sun kissed every curve. Smooth brown skin gleamed under the light, a single bead of sweat sliding down the valley until it disappeared where she held herself spread. Between her hands, everything was on display: the tight little twitch of her asshole, the slick gleam of her pussy lips glistening as they parted wider.

She looked over her shoulder, lips curled, tongue flicking across her mouth for the camera. The men groaned, their excitement thick in the air, raw and heavy. They weren’t just watching anymore — they were caught. And Lara? She could feel it, taste it. Their heat made her wetter, made her arch higher, made her spread herself even wider for the lens. She knew she had them — not just as men, but as an audience. And she fucking thrived on it.

Click.

The first man stepped closer, his cock free now, hard and glistening in the sun. Lara looked over her shoulder, giggling, and licked her lips. “Mmm .. let’s make it beautiful.” She lifted herself up on her knees, tilted her head back, opened her mouth wide, tongue out for the lens. He slid in, and she groaned loud, sloppy, messy, performing every inch of it.

Click.

The photo froze her — lips stretched, spit dribbling, tongue wagging around him. Her eyes rolled back, but she still flicked a look at the camera, smiling filthy through the gag.

Behind her, another man knelt, his fingers sliding into her wetness. Lara pushed back against his hand, moaning exaggeratedly, clutching her tits as though she was her own audience. “Ohhh fuck, yes, keep filming. Film me sucking.”

Click.

Her ass twitched, her body rocking between both men, but she didn’t falter. She posed. She arched higher, spread wider, made her tits bounce in her own hands. When she pulled her mouth off his cock, she did it with a wet pop, strings of spit hanging for the lens. She wagged her tongue at the camera, giggling like a starlet, before swallowing him back down again.

Click.

The third man hovered at her side, stroking himself while watching the show. Lara reached out blindly, her hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking in rhythm to her moans. She looked up at him, then right back at the lens, whispering dirty, deliberate words: “Make sure you catch this angle — me filled, me messy, me fucking perfect.”

Click.

The camera was eating her alive — every flash making her wetter, louder, filthier. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was radiant, performing with her body like it had been built for this: cock in her mouth, fingers in her pussy, spit dripping, tits bouncing in her hands. Every pose a fucking invitation, every moan a soundtrack for the lens.

She pulled back for a breath, face slick, chest heaving, and looked straight into the lens with a wicked grin.

“Don’t stop now,” she panted. “The camera loves me .. and I love it.”

The Performance

Click.

Lara was on her knees, body glistening with sweat and spit, her bikini tangled around her ankles like a trophy. One man’s cock still slick from her throat hovered at her lips, while another knelt behind, fingers dripping as they spread her pussy open.

he moaned into the lens, louder than she needed to, then arched her back, pushing her ass toward him. “Mmm… don’t just tease. Slide it in.”

The man obeyed, pressing forward, filling her pussy in one long, wet stroke. Lara’s mouth fell open, a cry ripping from her chest — not just pleasure, but performance. She tilted her head toward the phone, tongue out, letting the flash catch her bliss as she rocked back into him.

Click.

He gripped her hips and took her properly, slamming into her with a steady, hungry rhythm that made her tits sway and her ass slap out loud. Each thrust pushed her knees deeper into the sand, her pussy clenching, finally getting the first real taste of what she’d been teasing for so long. She gasped, squealed, exaggerated every sound so the lens would capture her at her loudest, her wettest. Only once she’d soaked him, once she’d been fucked into a rhythm her body couldn’t deny, did she turn her head toward the next man, eyes greedy, lips curling into a wicked grin — ready to give him a different reward.

She turned, lips wrapping around the cock in front of her, sucking him hard and sloppy as her body bounced from the thrusts behind. Her moans were muffled but deliberate, the sound wet and obscene, her eyes locked on the lens. She pulled off with a pop, spit trailing down her chin, and grinned.

“Yes… yes, keep filming this. I want every swap caught on camera.”

Click.

Her hand reached for the third man, stroking him in rhythm with her moans. She looked between them, greedy, glowing. “You don’t keep one girl, one hole. You swap. Mouth, pussy, ass, again and again. That’s what I want. That’s the show.”

Click.

The man behind her slid out, his cock shining in the light, and without missing a beat she tugged him around to her mouth, swallowing him deep while the one in front lined up to slide inside her pussy. She gasped, giggled, spread her thighs wider. “Mmm .. perfect. Don’t stop. Keep swapping. I want it all.”

Click.

The camera caught it — Lara’s face messy with spit, her tits bouncing, her body taking cock after cock, her hands spreading herself wider to frame the shot. She was radiant, loud, and shameless, her voice cutting through the rhythm.

“Harder. Slower. Deeper. Swap again. Yes — fuck, film me taking him while I’m still dripping from the last. Make it messy, make it loud. I want to see it all later, every second.”

Click.

And the men obeyed. Sliding out, swapping places, sliding in again — her pussy, her mouth, her ass, her hands — a rotation of heat and mess, every move caught in flashing detail. Lara didn’t just take it. She directed it.

She looked straight into the lens, face wet, tits heaving, her body open and shining, and purred:

“This is what I wanted. Me, the camera, and all of you .. swapping, filling, filming until I’m ruined.”

Click.

Sharing is Caring

Lara’s body gleamed under the sun, her hair wild, her bikini forgotten at her ankles. She was bouncing between them, mouth stretched, pussy filled, her own hands spreading herself for the camera. But now? It wasn’t slow anymore. It was a rhythm, a rotation, a frenzy.

“Yes — swap again, faster!” she cried, her voice breaking with need. “Don’t stop, don’t leave me empty — keep me full, keep me wet!”

Click.

The man in her mouth pulled out with a wet slap, spit and strings of saliva glistening across her chin.

Before she could even catch her breath, his hand slapped her cheek. Not brutal — not cruel — but urgent, frenzied, like he had to feel the source of those obscene sounds spilling from her. He slapped her again, watching her gasp, then slid two fingers past her lips. Lara moaned around them, sucking greedily, her tongue wrapping and swirling as if she wanted to drink down the taste of his skin too. Her eyes flashed up at him, daring, performing, letting the camera catch every wet lick.

Then she turned, gasping as another cock slid into her throat. She gagged, eyes rolling, then pushed deeper, moaning louder so the microphones would catch it. Her hand waved another forward, guiding him back into her pussy.

Click.

Her body shook, her tits bouncing with every thrust. She arched her back, turning her face toward the lens even with a cock down her throat, moaning through the gag. She pulled off with a messy pop, spit pouring, her voice ragged but greedy.

“Yes, fuck, that’s it! In my ass now — fill me everywhere!”

Click.

One slipped behind her, pressing against her ass. Lara squealed, grinning wide into the lens as he slid inside. She spread herself wider with both hands, holding her cheeks apart, moaning loud and dirty. “Ohhh fuck, yes — fill me like this, stretched, dripping, full everywhere. This is what I want. This is who I am.”

Click.

The men obeyed her every demand — swapping faster, sliding out and back in, her pussy, her ass, both holes dripping, her mouth messy, her body glowing. Lara directed it, gasping orders, moaning louder, grinning through the chaos.

“Don’t stop — don’t fucking stop! Harder in my ass — slower in my pussy — yes, yes, suck my tits, make them shine  — ohhh fuck, swap again, fill me, ruin me, film me cumm!”

Click.

The camera didn’t miss a thing: her tongue wagging through spit, her ass twitching around cock, her tits bouncing, her hands spreading herself wider, demanding more, begging louder. She was the star, the director.

And as her body shook harder, thighs trembling, sweat shining down her chest, Lara screamed it for the lens:

“Yes! Right there! Keep filming — make me cum for you — ohhh fuck, I’m gonnnnna—”

Click.

Her orgasm tore through her — raw, filthy, unashamed. She squirted, dripped, shook against them, every thrust caught on film, every scream caught on tape. Her pussy clenched, her ass spasmed, her throat gagged and swallowed — and Lara loved it. It was all captured, all remembered.

She collapsed forward, still sucking, still stroking, her voice wrecked but greedy.

“Don’t stop now, baby,” she panted, looking into the lens with a wild grin. “It’s your turn. Finish on me. All of you. Make these shots unforgettable.”

Lara’s Frenzy

She dropped to her knees, tilting her face up, eyes wide and glistening. Her mouth hung open, tongue wagging, spit still dripping down her chin. She stroked one cock with both hands, guiding him closer, whispering, “Right here. Paint my tongue. Give it to me.”

He groaned, hips jerking, and then it spilled. Hot ropes across her tongue, splattering her lips, streaking down her chin. The first shot made her gasp, the second made her moan, and by the third she was laughing through it, messy and radiant, eyes locked on the lens as if begging the camera itself to swallow her whole.

She tilted her head back, mouth open wide, letting another streak splash the roof of her mouth before she pushed it out again on her tongue. It dripped, thick and shining, rolling down her chin to her tits, strings clinging to her skin. Lara caught it with a finger, sucked it clean, then wagged her tongue proudly for the lens.

Click.

The photo froze her in time — radiant, messy, greedy, cum dripping off her face as she performed like it was a prize worth framing. Her eyes half-lidded, her lips smeared, her tongue wagging, she looked like a woman drunk on being covered.

But Lara wasn’t finished showing off her trophy. She leaned forward toward the phone, moaning, letting a thick string dangle from her lip before licking it slowly back into her mouth. “Mmm… did you get that?” she purred, voice hoarse, deliberately smearing the rest with her fingers across her cheeks and chest. Then she licked those fingers too, slow and obscene, humming like she was tasting the sweetest thing in the world.

Click.

Now the flash caught her glowing — hair wild, chin wet, her tits slick and sticky. She leaned in close again, tongue still out, cum glistening in the sun like she’d turned it into jewelry. She giggled, filthy and proud.

“Mmm .. perfect. Who’s next?” she purred, licking a string of cum from her lip for the lens as she dropped onto all fours in the sand.

Her ass high, her pussy glistening, her tits swaying beneath her. She looked over her shoulder, a filthy grin flashing as, her fingers digging into the soft curve of her cheeks, pulling herself open so the lens saw everything. “Do it here. Cover my ass.”

The second guy knelt behind her, cock in hand, stroking furiously. The head twitched just above the curve of her cheeks, glistening, aching. Lara moaned louder, rocking her hips back and forth as if offering him a moving target. Her tits swung beneath her with every push, bouncing in rhythm, sweat running down between them.

“Mmm .. yes, right there. Aim high. Make it drip down into me.” She taunted him, twisting her head toward the lens, her grin wide and filthy.

He groaned, deep and helpless, his body jerking forward. The first streak landed hot across the small of her back, the second splattered thick across the swell of her cheeks. By the third, he was painting her open asshole directly, white streaks dripping down between her spread fingers. Lara squealed, her whole body shuddering as she held herself wider, shameless, making sure the mess ran where the camera could catch it.

Click.

The photo froze her like that — ass painted in wet ropes, her cheeks glistening, her asshole shining as it dripped. Her tits were swaying beneath her, hair hanging wild around her face, her grin glowing through the moans.

But Lara wasn’t finished showing off. She reached back with one hand, scooping a thick line of cum from her ass, smearing it higher across her cheek before holding it up proudly to the lens. She giggled, moaning breathless, then licked her fingers clean, slow and obscene, humming as she tasted it.

Click.

Another flash caught her rear still dripping, cum sliding down the inside of her thighs toward the sand. She spread herself again, arching harder, wagging her ass toward the lens as if daring it to take a hundred more close-ups.

“Yesss .. fuck, yes,” she gasped, her voice ragged but greedy. “One more. Cover me everywhere.”

She rolled onto her back, the sand clinging to her damp skin, her hair fanned out wild around her face. Her chest rose and fell, tits glistening, nipples stiff and aching for attention. She squeezed them together with both hands, pressing them up proudly for the camera, tongue sliding out between them as she giggled. “Here, baby. All over my tits, all over my face. Make the last shot unforgettable.”

The third man knelt over her, cock in hand, stroking hard and fast. His breath came ragged, his eyes locked on the mess already streaking her body. Lara arched higher, shaking her tits for the lens, letting her tongue wag between them, her eyes daring the camera closer.

“Mmm, yes .. right here. Paint me. Make me glow.”

The first streak shot across her chest, splattering thick over the swell of her breasts. Lara gasped, squeezing harder, smearing it across her tits with her palms, making them shine under the sun. Another rope splashed across her throat, sliding down into her cleavage. She moaned, rubbing it in, smearing her nipples until they glistened, pinching them wet for the lens.

Click.

The next burst struck her chin, dripping down to her lips. Lara’s mouth fell open, tongue flicking out to catch a droplet mid-run. She giggled, filthy and proud, then deliberately smeared the rest across her cheek with the back of her hand, holding it up sticky for the camera before licking it clean.

Click.

He groaned again, jerking, and the final shots painted her face — streaks across her forehead, splashes down her nose, dripping thick from her jaw. Lara squealed, arching her back, rubbing both hands over her tits and face, smearing it everywhere, her grin wild and radiant. She licked her fingers, then pushed them between her tits, sucking them clean as her eyes rolled up at the lens.

Click.

The photo caught it all: Lara’s tits glossy and shining, her face streaked and dripping, her tongue out, wagging proudly through the mess. She looked ruined, radiant, perfect.

But Lara wasn’t done. She leaned forward toward the phone, cum sliding off her cheek, and whispered hoarse but gleeful: “Mmm .. my trophy. All of it. Don’t miss a drop.”

She smeared one final streak across her lips, sucked it clean, then threw her head back with a wicked laugh.

Click.

“Mmm .. now that’s a finish.”

Epilogue

The hotel room was quiet, just the hum of the aircon and the faint flicker of the projector. White sheets stretched smooth across the bed, the glow of the paused video painting Lara’s bare legs in pale light.

She’d freshened up, hair damp from the shower, skin still warm from the sun. A loose shirt hung open across her chest, but beneath it she was naked, glowing, radiant. She lay sprawled on the pillows, one arm tucked under her head, the remote for the projector resting lazily in her hand.

The door clicked. He came in, tired but smiling, and leaned down to kiss her. She met his lips slow, soft, sticky-sweet.

“How was your day?” he asked, casual, as though it were the simplest question in the world.

And then. That wicked grin. The one that always gave her away. The one that promised trouble before a word even left her mouth.

She rolled onto her side, tapping the remote with a fingertip. The projector started to whir to life.

Lara’s eyes sparkled as she looked back at him, biting her lip, the grin stretching wider.

“Mmm ..” she purred, voice thick with pride, “let me show you.”

And hit play.