Fuck her ass

Another man, unable to wait any longer, pushes himself between her legs, forcing his way into her aching, overstretched ass. The pain is unbearable, and Amara's mind goes blank as the men start to thrust into her. She feels like she's being torn apart, her body being used for their sick pleasure.

The director leans down, his lips brushing against her ear. "You're ours now," he whispers, his voice filled with malice. "You'll do whatever we say, whenever we say it."

The men continue to ravage her, their bodies slapping against hers.

Amara's cries echo through the room, a mixture of pain and despair. Tears stream down her face, her body trembling with each thrust. The director's words echo in her mind, "You're ours now... You'll do whatever we say, whenever we say it." The thought sends a chill down her spine, and she feels like she's losing herself, her identity, her soul.

The man behind her thrusts deeper, his grip on her hips tightening. Amara's vision starts to blur, her body numb to the pain. She feels like she's being torn apart, her insides burning with each thrust. The other man, still inside her, starts to moan, his body tensing up.

He reaches his climax, pulling out of her and collapsing onto the bed beside her.

The director, still leaning down, whispers in her ear, "You should have just taken it like a good girl. Now, you'll never make it out here in Hollywood. You're finished." His voice is cold, devoid of any emotion. The actor behind her pulls out, his penis still erect. He looks down at Amara, a mixture of disgust and satisfaction on his face.

The other men in the room start to murmur, their voices filled with agreement. One of them steps forward, his eyes fixed on Amara's battered body. "Yeah, she's done. No one will ever want to work with her again."

Amara's body feels like it's been shattered into a million pieces. She can't move, can't speak, can't even think. She's trapped in a world of pain and despair, with no escape in sight. The men in the room start to laugh, their voices echoing off the walls. The sound is like a knife to Amara's soul, cutting deeper with each passing moment.

The men start to get dressed, their movements slow and deliberate. They seem to be savoring the moment, enjoying Amara's pain and humiliation. The director puts on his leather mask, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The actor zips up his pants, his eyes fixed on Amara's battered body.