The air in the studio had become almost liquid, a heavy, sweltering soup of pheromones, sweat, and the intoxicating scent of Mike's musk. The recording on the phone continued to capture the madness, but the women seemed to have forgotten the camera entirely, fueled by the sheer, adrenaline-pumping high of their shared rebellion.
They were no longer just worshipping; they were competing to see who could drive Mike to the brink of madness first. The pace shifted from rhythmic to frantic, a desperate, high-speed assault on his senses.
SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK!
The sound of their breasts slapping against his thighs and his shaft was constant, a wet, percussive beat that matched the thudding of their hearts. Ellie had taken the lead, her movements becoming more aggressive, her head bobbing with a violent, rhythmic intensity as she tried to take as much of his massive length as her throat would allow.
"GLUCK! GULP! MMMMPH! HNNN!"
