Grins asking her questions about her history and why does she do this with her body as he takes his cock out

He ask. "Tell me, Ronnie. Why does a girl like you end up... here? Selling this magnificent form for coin? What tragedy, what grand failure, brought you to my little studio?" His breathing grew heavier as he unzipped his trousers with a trembling hand. His cock, when he freed it, was pale and surprisingly large for a man of his age, with a network of blue veins tracing its length. It wasn't hard, not yet, but it twitched in the stale air.

Ronnie **** herself to look into the camera lens, her mind racing for the story that would sell. "Failure? No, this is... success." She managed a weak, broken laugh. "I was always..." Ronnie pause thinking of her old past life. "last in my family. My mom and dad would never remember me. Always last. Boring. This..." She gestured to her cum-streaked body. "This is winning. This is getting what I want. For the first time, men will remember me as their best."

The man began to stroke himself, slowly, rhythmically, his eyes never leaving the camera's viewfinder. "A tale of liberation through degradation. I like it. And the red hair... was it always so... vibrant?"

"Fucker," she thought, but she said, "Always. My best feature. Men used to say it looked like fire. Now they say it looks like a warning sign."

Ronnie crawl over tasting his cock. Her tongue darted out, lapping at the underside of his shaft. He tasted old, of stale soap and something vaguely bitter. She felt him harden under her ministrations, the flesh growing firm and alive in her mouth. She bobbed her head, taking more of him in, her hands resting on his wrinkled thighs.

The red light of the camera was a constant, unblinking witness. He was fully hard now, a respectable size that filled her mouth comfortably. His hips began to move, a slow, tentative rocking back and forth.

He ask another question. "And these men... the ones who painted you so beautifully before my arrival. Were they clients? Or... artists like myself?"

Ronnie let him slide from her lips with a wet pop. "Clients. Big, beautiful black men. They fucked me senseless. Two in my pussy at once." A genuine flash of pride lit up her face. "I was full. I was... complete." She looked directly into the lens. "They left me a masterpiece. You're just... adding a new chapter."

The old man's breath hitched. He reached down, tangling a frail hand in her sticky hair. "Then let's get to the final act," he rasped, guiding her back toward the stained mattress on the floor. "The grand finale. The... baptism." His eyes gleamed behind the thick glasses, hungry and cold. "Lie down. And open your mouth. Ready for your close-up?"

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