Didn't Make It To The Bedroom

Rebecca can't wait. She drags my husband onto the staircase, greedy hands already working his belt. Clothes peel off in a rush, a trail of fabric left behind. She spreads herself on the steps, thighs wide. He drops to his knees, tongue sliding over wet skin. She grabs the banister and moans, hips rolling against his mouth. His cock's hard now; she pulls him up and takes him deep in one slick motion. They fuck right there—skin slapping on carpeted treads, her tits bouncing with every thrust. I hold the camera steady. Rebecca climbs, gripping each higher step, ass raised. He follows, fucking deeper. Her hand slips on the railing when he pushes into that spot she likes. I watch him bury himself fully, then pull out and slam back in. She comes twice—once pressed face-first into the third step, again standing with one leg hooked over his shoulder. My lens catches everything: the shine of sweat, the fingerprints on the rail, the smear of her juices on the treads. By the time they hit the landing, she's trembling and he's still hard.