Erotic Stories: The Shoot with Erica That Ended in Swallow
- 5 days ago
- 6 min read
This Erotic story is written with XXX Story AI Writer
The studio lights hum overhead, casting Erica’s painted body in a warm, golden glow as she steps onto the set. My breath catches—she’s even more stunning in person than in the portfolio shots.
The bodypaint clings to her like a second skin, swirling blues and violets tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, before dipping between her thighs. But it’s the bondage wrapped around her tits that really does me in—thin, satin ropes dyed in electric pink and neon green, crisscrossing over her nipples, pulling them just tight enough to make them pucker.
The paint glistens where it’s stretched over the swell of her breasts, the ropes digging in slightly, emphasizing every perfect inch of her.
I clear my throat, adjusting the camera to hide the way my cock is already stirring in my jeans. “Uh, yeah. Just like that. Turn a little to the left—” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. She obeys, shifting her weight, and the ropes tug, making her gasp softly. The sound goes straight to my dick.
Fuck. I’m supposed to be professional.
But then she bites her lower lip, her gaze flicking to me through her lashes, and I know she sees exactly what she’s doing to me. The air between us thickens, charged with something that has nothing to do with the photoshoot. Her chest rises and falls faster, the ropes shifting with every breath, the paint glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
“I—uh—” I lower the camera, my fingers twitching. “The paint’s smudging a little. On your tits. Let me—let me fix it.”
She doesn’t object. Doesn’t move. Just watches me as I step closer, my pulse hammering in my ears. The scent of her—something floral, something sweet, underlaid with the musk of arousal—hits me like a punch to the gut. I reach out, my fingers brushing the painted curve of her breast, and she shivers. The ropes are soft under my fingertips, but the skin beneath is hot, her nipple hardening as I trace the edge of the bondage.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. My thumb grazes her nipple through the ropes, and she lets out a whimper, her back arching just slightly. That’s all it takes. The last thread of my self-control snaps.
I grab her, my hand tangling in her hair, and crush my mouth to hers. She melts against me instantly, her lips parting with a hungry moan. The taste of her—mint and something darker, something needy—floods my senses.
My other hand slides down, palming her painted breast, squeezing just hard enough to make her gasp into my mouth. The ropes dig into her flesh, the paint smudging under my grip, and she whines, her nails raking down my chest.
“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” I growl, my lips trailing down her neck. “Like being touched up like my little canvas. My fucking masterpiece.”
She nods frantically, her hips grinding against my thigh. The friction has to be killing her, the paint slick between her thighs, the ropes chafing her sensitive skin. I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands sliding up her inner thighs, pushing them apart. The bodypaint here is thinner, streaked with wetness, her arousal glistening under the studio lights.
“Look at you,” I groan, my breath hot against her pussy. “Already so wet. Already aching for it.” I don’t wait for an answer. I dive in, my tongue dragging through her folds, lapping up the paint and the slick heat of her.
She cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair, her hips bucking against my face. The taste of her—salt and sweetness, the faint chemical tang of the paint—is intoxicating. I grip her ass, pulling her closer, my tongue spearing into her as I feast on her like a man starved.
Her moans fill the studio, echoing off the walls, her thighs trembling around my head. The ropes on her tits dig in deeper as she arches, her nipples tight little points, the paint smeared where she’s been touching herself. I can’t take it anymore. I need to be inside her. Now.
I stand abruptly, my hands going to my belt. Her eyes are glazed, her lips swollen from kissing, her chest heaving. She watches as I free my cock, thick and leaking, the head already flushed dark with need. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and I groan, stroking myself once, twice, before gripping her hips and lifting her onto the nearby shooting table.
The surface is cool under her bare ass, the paint sticking slightly as she shifts. I don’t give her time to adjust. I line myself up, the tip of my cock brushing through her wetness, gathering her arousal before pressing against her entrance.
“Tell me you want it,” I demand, my voice rough. “Tell me how bad you need my cock.”
Her breath hitches, her fingers clawing at the table. “Please,” she whines. “Fuck, please—I need it. Need you to fuck me. Now.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Erica sinks to her knees in front of me, the studio floor hard beneath her bare legs, her hands sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness. The bodypaint glistens under the lights, her skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat as she leans in, her breath hot through the fabric of my jeans.
I can see the hunger in her eyes—the way her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip before she hooks her fingers into the waistband of my boxers and tugs them down. My cock springs free, already throbbing, the head glistening with pre-cum. She doesn’t even give me time to react before her lips part, her tongue swirling over the tip in a slow, teasing circle.
"Jesus—" The word chokes out of me as she takes me into her mouth, her lips sealing around the shaft with obscene pressure. Her tongue works the underside, flat and firm, while her fingers curl around the base, stroking in time with her bobbing head.
The bondage straps on her tits press against my thighs with every movement, the cool metal a stark contrast to the wet heat of her mouth. She hollows her cheeks, taking me deeper, her throat fluttering as she swallows around the head.
A guttural groan rips from my chest when she pulls back just enough to flick her tongue against the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum before diving down again, her nose pressing into the coarse hair at the base of my cock.
"Look at you," I pant, tangling my fingers in her hair, guiding her pace. "Such a fucking slut for it. You love having your mouth stuffed, don’t you?" She moans around my cock, the vibration sending a jolt straight to my balls.
Her free hand slides between her own legs, fingers working furiously over her clit as she sucks me like she’s starving for it. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth fill the studio, mixed with the creak of the bondage straps shifting against her skin every time she arches her back, chasing her own pleasure.
I can feel my orgasm coiling tight, the pressure building at the base of my spine. "Gonna cum, baby," I warn, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she doubles down, her lips stretching obscenely wide as she takes me to the root, her throat opening for me.
The first pulse hits her tongue, thick and hot, and she swallows around me with a desperate whimper, her fingers flying over her clit as she comes undone right there on the studio floor.
I keep her locked in place, my hips jerking as I empty myself down her throat, rope after rope of cum painting the back of her mouth. She gulps it down greedily, her eyes watering, mascara-smudged as she looks up at me, lips glistening with what she couldn’t swallow.
When I finally pull free, my cock glistens with her saliva, the head still twitching. Erica sways on her knees, her chest heaving, the bodypaint smeared where her tits pressed against my thighs.
A thick string of cum drips from her lower lip, and without breaking eye contact, she scoops it up with her finger and sucks it clean, her tongue swirling around the digit like she’s savoring the last drop of me.
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