he framed so that the light glowing across the skin of her haunches arrested the pan slightly before it continued in a smooth thoughtless flow across her back containing the space and objects of the set, from the kicked off shoes and clothes on the pale rug, to the sofa back cutting off the view behind, candlesticks, stereo, the shadow cast by a plant on the cream wall, other actors. her mouth made a perfect red O and her white body seemed to be as transient as a series of smoke rings blown horizontally or else the hoops of light around the robot in Metropolis. a tube that formed a perfect shape that he plugged into as he was just now. that he too might be considered to be tube with a wide opening at the back, his ass, to a narrow opening at the front, his urethra. another vulnerable shape to be fitted in to.
the juices from her body coated his shaft as it withdrew for the camera dragging her lips a little as it went, appearing to clasp him and draw out a little. the light sparkled on the veins along his wet erection in a broken line of white highlights, starting as a few shifting pixels, one area seeming to become more intense growing to the point where you might be drawn into that focus and be absorbed into an unknown origin. you were inside the light or everything was seen from the perspective of that point or within something outside yet habitable.
the camera was following a thought message that seemed to travel through space and things but when it came to her it sank into her mind as it was grabbed by an old memory of a girl in pink top and blue jeans and white trainers with blonde hair who was so clean and stepping off a pavement at that point uncertain if the bus might move. this way she could keep at distance that view and feeling from underneath, the shadow of her body and her breasts swinging with the thrusts, that sense of her body open and filled and emptied and made full too but in a remote way. a sense of unbearable interruption and frustration growing and her flesh looking like marble with his fingers denting the curve of the skin.
his cock came out leaving a wide gaping cave and the tip was pressing against her ass then bearing in and through, membrane to membrane making her feel weak but with a headrush and with the space changing and shaken with a deep silent cum unseen but dubbed in later. for a moment she was there but the moment moved away from her as the guy in front came clumsily. instead of her teasing tongue twirling on his tip and a gorgeous fullness spilling as if in summer heat his body looked curled up in a black cloud and he looked like he was sorry. He had shot in her closed mouth. he pulled out so the remaining spurts could be seen but then she opened her mouth and let a slo-mo skein drool down.
remember that kind of greyness in her earlier in the image flowstream and some survival devices that were making this happen. and one minute she was a red head flaming against porcelain skin and then a blonde with glowing highlights. the whole space was a living canvas anyway but there were moments you might escape the frame, if the lens would only swing away and there would be a view out the window, but a bee would always be going into a flower. or else everybody had stopped while the film was changed but were still moving a little to maintain things. in one instant he lost wood or was hard or all states at once to be edited out or not. the camera might have to try to gather and assemble all the parts of the bodies. she was doing a painting of a flower and he stood behind her so close in a sunny room their bodies seemed to breathe into each other. she may have been shaken out of giving a you pleasing smile. she was as vulnerable as a shemale on her way to her wedding, somewhere inside that huge dress in the great old shiny light creamy brown car, but always enduring.
fred west described the spirits of his victims: ‘when they come up into you it’s beautiful, it’s when they go away you are trying to hold them, you feel them flying away from you and you try to stop them.’