Fashion House #02

Ms. Platinum stands on India's doorstep—no hesitation, no games tonight. Just pure, direct hunger. She takes India by the waist the second the door closes, pulling her close, hands already sliding under her shirt. Their mouths crash together, tongues sliding, breath hot. Clothes come off fast. Ms. Platinum pushes her back onto the couch, climbs on top, legs spread wide as she grinds down, cunt slick and open. She reaches between them and rubs India's clit in tight, steady circles, fingers sinking inside, thrusting deep, never slowing. India's thighs shake. Ms. Platinum watches her face the whole time, fucking her with purpose—rough, unrelenting—until India’s back arches and she moans loud enough to echo off the walls.