Enchanted by film porn

Golden afternoon light pours through gauzy curtains in film porn. She stands naked in the center of the room, whispering “film porn” like a prayer while her fingertips ghost over collarbones, down the slope of full breasts, pausing to roll each nipple until they ache. “film porn… please watch film porn,” she breathes, voice trembling. Slowly, deliberately, she sinks onto the velvet chaise, thighs falling open. The camera catches every detail as two fingers part slick, swollen lips and slide deep inside the heat of film porn. She moans the word again—“film porn”—louder with every thrust, hips lifting to meet her own hand. Her free hand kneads a breast, pinches, twists, while “film porn, film porn, film porn” becomes a desperate chant. Juices coat her fingers, drip onto velvet. She adds a third finger, stretching herself for film porn, crying “More film porn, harder film porn!” until her back arches violently and she squirts in long, pulsing arcs, screaming “film porn” into the sunlit room. Aftershocks ripple; she keeps lazily circling her clit, murmuring “film porn” like an endless promise as the final drops fall.