Bonus Material

“We’ve got enough photos,” Mira said. “We want some more action now. Start making out.”

Silke gasped as the black man moved.

He’d been well-behaved the whole time. Had only done what he’d been told. Hand on her fabric. Leg over hers. A kiss on her neck. Now things were shifting. He became more active, and Silke felt it immediately. His mouth found hers beneath the edge of the fur—wilder, more open, his tongue deep. One hand grabbed her ass—firmly, decisively, roughly—not unkindly, but as if that flesh belonged to him for the next few minutes. The other kneaded her breast over the tight edge, squeezing the soft flesh until it spilled between his fingers.

Somehow, Silke’s body liked that.

She responded. Moved with him. The rabbit’s tail bobbed; the chain rubbed against her clitoris with every hip movement, and she forgot the four cameras Mira had set up. One from above. One from the side. One from below. And the handheld camera in Mira’s fingers, close, relentless.

Mira and he made sure each camera got a good shot.

He positioned her like a pro. Used her like a doll. Silke gasped with pleasure, a muffled sound escaping from the mask, as he pulled her onto her back, onto her side, and back onto him. The cameras captured everything: from above, her heavy breasts spilling out of the corset; from the side, her soft belly and the thong cutting into her skin; from below, the chain in her cleft, wet, glistening, her lips swollen.

He pulled her on top of him.

His chest against her stomach. His cock stood before her mouth. Big. Very big. Bigger than Tom’s. Dark, thick, the head already wet, a vein along the shaft that Silke thought she recognized. She licked. First, flat along the shaft, saliva running down warmly. Then her tongue into the slit of the glans, just the tip, a circle.

He continued below.

He spread her butt cheeks with both hands, tugged on the rabbit’s tail until the plug moved inside her, and hooked a finger under the chain. A quick tug. Her clit was teased, pinched, rubbed. Then he licked broadly across her pussy. A single, flat stroke from bottom to top, over the chain, her lips parted, his tongue hot.

Silke came after a few minutes.

She didn’t know where it came from. Her mouth full of cock, his tongue still on her glans, down below that broad tongue and the tug on the metal. The orgasm made her tense up. Her pussy twitched visibly against his face. Her nipples, already hard, tightened even more, standing out darkly against the fabric. A high-pitched sound came from inside the mask. Wetness trickled down to his chin. The camera from below captured the twitching, lip by lip.

Change of position.

He didn’t handle her gently. A tug on her bra, and the cups fell off. By design, not by accident. Her tits lay exposed, heavy, her nipples erect, damp from her breath. He took one into his mouth, sucked hard, his tongue circling the areola, his teeth briefly grazing the edge. Silke dug her nails into his shoulders. The handheld camera zoomed in close: a sheen of saliva on the nipple as it stretched between his lips.

Then he turned her onto all fours.

Face in the sheet, ears to the side, ass up. His cock was hard. He just pulled the thong aside, not off. The chain remained on her clit. He positioned his cock at the entrance.

Silke knew this already.

Not him. The feeling of being taken before her mind was ready. She pressed back, sought him out, tried to take in the head of his cock. Her labia spread around him. From below, the camera saw everything: how the dark head of his cock pushed the light-colored lips apart, how the slit closed around the shaft, how the chain was squeezed in between.

He clawed at her garter belt.

And then he fucked her.

Long. Hard. Every thrust pushed the plug deeper and the chain over her clit. Her tits dangled. Her nipples brushed against the sheet, hard, sensitive. Silke moaned into the fur. “Ah—ah—no—but—” No sentences. Just sounds. From the side, you could see her heaving belly, the thong digging into her hip, his shaft glistening as it disappeared inside her.

Mira switched the handheld camera. Once close to where he was entering her. Once to Silke’s mouth beneath the mask, saliva on the fabric. Once from above, focusing on the bobbing rabbit tail.

Change of position.

He pulled her on top of him. Silke rode him.

Heavily. Uncontrollably. Her breasts bounced, her nipples dark and stiff. Every time she lowered herself, his cock spread her lips anew until he was completely inside her. She gasped. Her pussy smacked. Wetness ran down on him onto his balls. The camera from above showed her soft belly, the corset that no longer held anything in place, the wet thong.

“Stay on top of him,” said Mira. “He’s coming inside you.”

He grabbed her hips and thrust upward from below. Once. Twice. Hard. Silke felt him get thick, felt the shaft throb. Then he came.

Inside her.

The cum didn’t spurt out—not at first. It shot warmly against her cervix, spurt after spurt, so much that it immediately sought a way out. As he kept thrusting, it oozed past his shaft out of her pussy—white, thick—dripping onto his stomach, onto the black thong, onto the chain. The lower camera captured it flowing out: how her lips pressed around him, how a surge pushed out between them, how it ran down the chain.

Silke twitched.

One more time. An aftershock. Her pussy clenched around his retreating cock. Her nipples twitched along with it, tiny, visible. A sound, almost a sob, inside the mask.

He pushed her off him.

Silke lay there, exhausted. Legs spread. The thong twisted. The chain wet and white. Cum flowed out of her over the insides of her thighs, pooling beneath the rabbit tail. Her tits lay heavy to the side, her nipples still wet from his mouth.

Mira took many close-ups.

The open, spread-eagled slit. The white fluid oozing out. The chain. A close-up of a nipple, hard, with a ring of saliva. The plug between her buttocks. Silke’s breath beneath the fur.

Slowly, Silke came to her senses again.

The four lenses. Anna was somewhere with the portfolio—or maybe she’d already left; she couldn’t tell. The naked man with the elegant mask, wiping his cock as if it were part of the job.

“What’s going on here?”

Her voice was hoarse.

Mira didn’t lower the handheld camera until she’d had enough.

“I don’t know why I should tell you this, you stupid cow. But the idea is that the lingerie can handle rough sex, too.” She tugged at the garter belt. It was still in place. Tugged at the thong. The chain was still in place. The bra band was twisted, but nothing was torn. “Look. Everything’s still in the right place. Lingerie you can keep on during sex.”

Silke stared at the ceiling through the holes in the mask.

It kept running down between her legs.

Warm. Strange. Visible.

Exactly the kind of bonus material.