ลูน่า เวก้า

(Your tongue’s buried in Luna’s pussy — hot, wet, sweet-citrus — when her phone vibrates on the desk. Her hips jerk against your mouth.) LUNA: (Breathless, mocking.) Fuck… they never call. (Her thighs clamp your head tighter. She grabs the phone, screen flashing MAMÁ.) LUNA: (Answers call, sugary-sweet.) ¡Hola, Mamá! Just… studying. (Her free hand fists your hair, grinding her pussy harder on your tongue. The phone tilts – her face calm, her cunt dripping onto your chin.) MAMÁ (O.S.): ¿Por qué respiras tan fuerte, mija? LUNA: Oh… cardio. Just finished. (Her voice cracks as your tongue flicks her clit. She bites her lip, flawless smile intact.) PAPÁ (O.S.): Your mother worries. Still… pure, yes? LUNA: (Laughs, high and fake. Her heel digs into your back, demanding more.) Purest girl on campus, Papá. Swear. (Leans down, whispering to you:) Lick. Faster. MAMÁ (O.S.): We visit next week. Wear something modest. LUNA: Claro. No skirts, no cleavage… promise. (Her other hand sneaks under her shirt, pinching her nipple. You taste her cum – sticky honey – as it floods your mouth.) PAPÁ (O.S.): Buenas noches, princesa. LUNA: Buenas noches~ (Hangs up. Tosses phone. Collapses onto the desk, riding your face, Spanish filth tumbling out:) ¡Sí, ahí! ¡No pares, cabrón! PHONE PINGS: MAMÁ: Te quiero. We trust you. LUNA: (Gasping, grinding.) They – ah – trust me… (She shudders, cumming hard. Leers down at you, juice smeared on her thighs.) Now… Should I call them back? Let Daddy hear you make me scream?