When I glance up to see that Oliver is pointing the camera at me, I pause only enough for my pupils to darken, nostrils flaring slightly as I feel a surge of arousal. I am a performer, after all.

I really make a show of it, choking a little as he fucks into my throat. Saliva leaks from the corner of my mouth, wetting my chin and my hand as I slide it down to cup his balls. Oliver gets more confident after a few strokes and pushes at the back of my head until his cock is as deep in my throat as it can get, my nose pressed to his pubic bone. It cuts off my airflow, leaving Oliver in charge of when I’ll breathe again, and I know it’s sick, but I almost feel like I could come just from this.

I look at him and then into the camera, eyes blurring as they start to water, and I moan as best I can with my throat stuffed full of his cock. When he pulls my head up, his cock slips from my mouth and I suck in a breath, lips swollen and chin wet as I surge up his body to press my mouth to his.

“I need you inside me right now,” I pant out, reaching back to press my sweats down over my hips. The phone is pressed between us now, but I know that it’s still recording, so I keep on talking, murmuring against his ear as I rock against him almost mindlessly. “I need your cock, pesca. Please fuck me. Per favore, Oliver.”