Rocco's Perfect Sluts, Scene #03

She’s tiny, Daisy Hot. Slender little thing. Young enough to get away with pink shorts so tight you can almost hear her breathing. She came here for rock-climbing tips, but the wall’s already lost its charm. Rocco’s eyes stay glued to her ass while Kid Jamaica’s grin widens—both men watching that heart-shaped backside work itself higher, soft and pale and asking for trouble. She feels it. Smiles over her shoulder. Throws the challenge out like a slap: who wants to dance first? "Choose," she says, hips already moving. Kid Jamaica finds himself flat on the mat before he can answer, face swallowed by her tight little butt as she grinds like the floor owes her money. The music’s thick, the air thicker. Heat and sweat and low laughter. Daisy drops to her knees between them, eyes gone dark, lips parting around first one thick cock and then the other, tasting skin, trading spit for moans. Rocco’s hand stays knotted in her hair; Kid’s hips jerk forward on instinct. Before long she’s bent and split between them—pink shorts nothing but a memory—offering up every tight little hole for rough, deep, back-and-forth fucking that turns frantic, filthy, unstoppable. They empty themselves across her tongue, her cheeks, the cleft of her spine, until she’s glistening, ruined, and smiling like sin.