Fashionistas - Scene 6

John's throbbing cock strains under three pairs of hands in that dripping, multi-level dungeon of a nightclub. Taylor, Chelsea, Gia—blonde, raven, and fire-red—have Rocco pinned against the cold concrete wall, their sharp heels clicking like bullets on wet floor. Nylon bites his wrists. Smiles cut deep. Belladonna watches from the shadows, jaw tight, pulse visible in her throat. She storms forward, voice low and vicious, tells Taylor her games end now. The slap cracks, skin burns, a smile spreads across Belladonna's face. She drops to her knees, shoves Taylor aside, wraps her mouth around Rocco's swollen shaft and works him hard, spit running, eyes locked on the stunned trio. Tension rolls between bodies like smoke. Belladonna rises, backs Rocco onto a leather table, climbs on top. She takes him inch by inch, wet heat swallowing every vein, hips rolling deliberate and filthy. The beat from the dance floor pulses through the floorboards. Each thrust meets a curse or a moan. She grinds down until her nails draw blood on his chest. Taylor, Chelsea, Gia circle like wolves denied their meal, lips parted, but they stay put—forced to watch her claim him. Belladonna rides him through clenching spasms and gritted teeth until he finally explodes deep inside her. She doesn't stop moving, milking every drop, breathing hot against his ear like the moment cost her something raw and irreplaceable.