I wrap a hand around the shaft, feeling the power and weight, another hand pressed against the lines of his waist.
I watch his face twist and relax as I brush my tongue around the head. He breathes in sharply through his teeth as pleasure shivers through him. I take it slow as I work my tongue along the hardened curves, running it down the endless length, taking his balls in my mouth softly, then working back up the shaft. He groans and pants, and I feel my own center getting wetter with the thrill of shifting control. I take the head in my mouth, sucking long and hard as I draw back, his cock popping out from between my lips. I do it again, deeper and harder. He grabs fistfuls of my hair, pulling me deeper. I go again and again, holding his cock in my mouth, sucking and winding my tongue against his flesh.
“Fuck,” he grunts, “that’s so good.”
Brando’s grunts get more and more primal, his grip on my hair tighter and the thrust of his hips faster, until he’s fully face-fucking me. The length of his cock choking me, pulsating like a battering ram in my throat. I grab his ass cheeks with both hands, hard as steel, and dig my nails into his skin, telling him to fuck me like this, telling him that as big as he is, I can handle it. That yes, I do want it. Bad.
As if in response, he fucks my mouth even harder, his breaths coming in shorter, deeper gasps. I drop onto the bed on my back, keeping him with me, neck craned forward with my mouth still full of him, as he kneels over my chest, my breasts between the defined muscles of his thighs, his hand buried in my hair, keeping my tongue steady on his magnificent, wonderful, God-like dick.
My head held in his powerful grip, mouth speared by his cock, I have nothing to do but gaze up at him, a mountain of flexing, machine-like muscle. His face a picture of determined, unstoppable potency. A skyscraper of a man, dominating everyone and everything around him.
He pulls out, rolling quickly off to the side to grab a condom. I take a second to gasp for breath, feeling like a stranded shipwreck survivor, before glancing over at him, easing the condom on as he lays on his back. As soon as he does, I kick my panties off and leap onto him, straddling his cock.
“My turn,” I gasp with wet desire.
I slide myself over his cock a few times, squeezing it between my lips, before grabbing it roughly and pushing it slowly inside – sitting on the head. Brando tries to push deeper but I shove him down harshly, smiling at the pleasure of keeping him on the edge. I work my * over the head of his cock slowly, teasing him with what’s to come. He tries to raise his chest once again but I shove him back down once more, even more roughly than before. He looks up at me, his face a mixture of maniacal smiling and the aching desire for more. I smile back, through gritted teeth, working myself up until I’m ready.
We cry out in unison when I slam myself down on him, taking every last bit of his cock into my wet *. He clutches at my ass mindlessly as I ride his cock, arching my back, thrusting my hips, squeezing my lips to make it hit all the spots I want it to. I throw my head back, pushing myself higher and higher, so good that I don’t even know I’m coming until I’m yelling his name, my face buried in his neck, my * aching and satisfied as the orgasm starts to fade. The heat and sweetness drain out of me. I slowly catch my breath, my heart still pounding.
I press my cheek onto Brando’s chest, my sweat-soaked hair settling against his skin. Limp muscles melting into his tough, reliable frame. The last thing I remember before I pass out is his arm coming up to wrap around my shoulders, holding me tightly to him.
I wake up in the middle of the night. The faintest glimmer of yellow in the sky tells me it’s still a while before sunrise. I stretch out across the bed, eyes still closed, trying to see where Brando is.
He’s not there. I open my eyes quickly, throwing off grogginess instantly. I look across the bed, and sit upright when I realize the fear is true. He’s not there.
I snatch up the thin bedsheet around me and look around. Between the bed and the rest of the loft there’s a partition, and around its corner I see brief flashes of light. My mouth goes dry and I start to feel the coldness of the hour. I slide out of bed as slowly, and as quietly, as I can, then tiptoe up to the partition.
“Brando?” I say, in sleepy confusion, when I see him sitting at the couch, intently bent over the laptop in front of him. I step closer and it becomes clear why he doesn’t answer: he’s wearing headphones. I walk up behind the couch and look at the screen.
It’s the footage we filmed.
Suddenly, Brando somehow notices me and turns around. He flips off the headphones and tosses them aside.
“I didn’t know you were up.”
“Likewise,” I respond. “What are you doing?”
“Come and see for yourself,” he says, shuffling up on the couch to make space.
I walk around and settle in beside him, hugging myself against his bicep as he presses play.
It’s the music video.