Gape in Italy, Scene #02

Omar Galanti watches Silvia Bianco bend over her dead husband's stone, already planning what he'll do to that plump mouth. The old man is barely cold, and here she stands—glossy hair, tits straining the thin black dress, eyes shining with something besides grief. "Come to the studio," he murmurs, licking his lips. She glances once more at the grave, then nods. In the dim back room, the camera's barely rolling when she sinks to her knees. Her tongue glides up the fat underside of his cock, smearing saliva until every vein glistens. He grabs her hair and shoves; she takes him all the way, wet sounds echoing off the walls as strings of spit drip from her chin. When he pulls her off, thick spit swings between her swollen lips and his swollen head. Silvia throws a leg over his face and grinds down, slick pussy smearing his mouth. He licks and sucks until she's dripping down his neck, then yanks her up, spins her, and presses the blunt head of his dick against her clenched hole. One brutal thrust and he punches inside, making her shriek. Her asshole stretches white around his girth, swallowing him inch by nasty inch until her sphincter pulses against his root. Each time he withdraws, the ring clutches and gapes, red and shiny; he rams straight back in, balls slapping her dripping cunt. He yanks the cock free and shoves the filth-smeared length down her throat. She gags, sucks her own taste off him, eyes streaming mascara. Back in her ass, he pounds until the room reeks of sweat and lubricant and heat. When he cums, he drags her by the hair to kneel beneath the dripping head; ropes of thick jizz spatter her tongue, paint her tits, trail down into her cleavage.