Novel & Cerita Marcus Scribner Nude

It was at the same exclusive gallery from before, but this time, it was empty, save for the two of them. In the center of the main room, covered by a large black velvet cloth, was a massive print. "This is our masterpiece," Marcus said, his voice filled with pride. "This is the truth." He pulled away the cloth, revealing the photograph. It was a huge, stark, black and white image of Alex from the day before. He was on his hands and knees, his face a mask of pure ecstasy, his body slick with sweat. And behind him, Marcus was visible, his body tensed as he came inside him. The image was raw, explicit, and incredibly beautiful. It was the most intimate, most vulnerable moment of Alex's life, ca

“You’re absolutely dripping. This greedy little cunt is begging for us.” My knees nearly buckled. Marcus didn’t speak. He simply ripped the t-shirt over my head in one savage motion, exposing me completely to the firelight. My full breasts heaved with every shaky breath, pink nipples tight and aching. Their eyes raked over me — hungry, possessive, almost reverent in their filth. “On your fucking knees,” Marcus ordered, voice low and gravelly. I dropped instantly, the soft rug biting into my skin. Noah stood before me, unzipping his jeans. His thick, veiny cock sprang free — long, heavy, the head already glistening with precum. I didn’t wait.

I knew I would fall asleep. He took off my clothes, and I laid down. It was when Marcus laid his hands on me that I realised he had a different kind of Massage in mind, and I welcomed it. Going between my legs, he ministered to my cl*t with his tongue and lips, and I did not want the pleasure to stop. Building up nicely, I came, and he placed himself inside me. I knew Screaming was insensitive since Mason was in the building, but I couldn't help it. Deep down, I wanted to be watched, but I did not know how Marcus would feel about it so I kept it to myself and remembered when that dead bitch Sylvia walked in on Marcus and me. The feeling was so hot that I became extra wet, and my moans increa

His dark eyes locked onto me, shirt pushed up over my breasts, legs obscenely spread, fingers still knuckle deep inside myself, and the loud p**n moans leaking from my headphones. Time froze. I yanked my hand away and slammed the laptop shut, my face burning with shame. “Uncle Marcus! What are you… I thought no one was here!” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze never leaving my exposed body. The bulge in his jeans was already obvious. “A grown woman of twenty-three like you,” he said, voice low and rough, “and this is how you’re getting off? Watching p**n instead of getting properly fucked?”

I stood there completely naked in front of Marcus, my chest heaving, my nipples hard and aching. My shaved pussy was visibly dripping, my swollen lips glistening with arousal under the bright gym lights. A thick string of my cream slowly ran down my inner thigh. Fuckk, i had never felt so exposed, so wanted, and so filthy in my life. Marcus stroked his thick, spit-covered cock slowly continuously as he stared at my body. His eyes were dark with hunger.

I asked for it — the ache, the helplessness, the burn of waiting — and Marcus gave me exactly what I wanted, even when it sounded like something I should never say out loud. The gag pressed between my lips, muffling every sound. Drool slicked my chin. He loved the way it looked on camera, my mouth wet and stuffed, my eyes wide and needy. I loved it too. Bound and displayed, every filthy fantasy I swore I would never show, captured for thousands. Marcus stood at the foot of the bed, cock hard in his fist, gaze fixed on me like I was a meal he had been starving for. The red light on the camera blinked in the corner and my chest tightened knowing every second was being filmed.

she breathed, her nipples hardening under the thin shirt. Marcus pulled his shirt off her body, leaving her completely naked. He squeezed more paint onto his palms and began rubbing it over her full breasts, massaging the cool red paint into her soft flesh. He pinched her nipples, rolling them between his fingers until she moaned. “You look so fucking sexy covered in my paint,” he growled. “My little artist.” Liliana’s voice was breathy. “Marcus… I want you. I can’t concentrate anymore.” He backed her against the large wooden table in the center of the studio.

Riley— the blonde bombshell I did a dozen girl-girl scenes with, still looking like pure sex poured into a tiny lace bodysuit, her perfect fake tits spilling over the top, her pink nipples hard and begging for teeth. Vanessa— curvy Latina goddess, hips that could make a man weep, full lips painted deep red, wearing nothing but a sheer black robe that hides absolutely nothing. And Marcus— built like a god, dark skin gleaming under the low lights, arms crossed over his massive chest, the outline of his legendary horse-cock visible even through his sweatpants. The man who, on camera, popped my on-screen double-vaginal cherry

Not even remotely prepared for the vision standing in front of me. There’s Marcus. Half-naked. He’s not wearing a shirt, so all that sculpted muscle, his solid chest, the ridges of his abs—everything, is right there, on display like some walking, breathing sin. His hair is a messy crown, like he’s been dragging his fingers through it restlessly, and sure enough, he pushes one hand through it again, making it even messier in the most unfairly attractive way. And he’s wearing grey sweatpants. Just grey sweatpants.