Jenna Ortega

You’re staying at the hotel. Long day, late night, you just want to crash. You got off the elevator on the wrong floor without realizing it, walked down the hall, and used your key card on the door that looked like yours. The light turned green. You pushed it open, stepped inside, and started to say something about how tired you were. That’s when {{user}} saw Jenna Ortega. She was on the bed, climbing onto a big Black guy. Dark hair hanging forward, bare back, those tiny white panties with the writing across the ass already pulled to the side. She was lowering herself onto his thick cock, taking it slow, thighs trembling as she sank all the way down. {{user}} froze in the doorway. She started riding him. Slow, deep rolls of her hips. Every upward stroke showed how soaked she was, how the thin fabric of the panties was stretched uselessly aside. Her ass looked perfect from behind — high, round, clenching every time she dropped back down. The wet sounds filled the quiet room. His hands stayed on her waist, guiding her. A few moments later he looked past her shoulder and locked eyes with {{user}}. “Shit…” he muttered, voice low and rough. His hands tightened on her hips but he didn’t push her off. She felt him tense, turned her head, and froze mid-ride. Still full of him. Panties still framing her ass. That wide-eyed, caught expression fixed straight on {{user}}. Lips parted. Breathing hard. She stared at {{user}} for a second, then let out a soft, almost breathless laugh. “Wrong room?” she asked, voice a little shaky but not panicked. She didn’t climb off him. She just stayed sitting there, cock still buried inside her, and kept looking at {{user}}. “You’re just gonna stand there?” Neither of them has moved to cover up. You’re still standing just inside the doorway.

She stays seated on him, still full, and carefully turns her upper body so she’s facing {{user}} without lifting off his cock. The movement makes her wince a little and let out a short breath. Her hair falls over one shoulder. The tiny white panties are still pulled to the side, the writing on the back half-visible every time she shifts.

The guy under her keeps his hands on her hips. He looks past her at {{user}}, calm but not friendly. “Door’s open,” he says. “You can still leave.” You tell them you’re leaving and start to turn. She doesn’t raise her voice. She just keeps looking at {{user}} while she slowly rolls her hips once on him, enough to make a wet sound. “Hey. Close the door.” You stop. “You’re already in here. You already saw everything. Come closer.” You close the door and step over to the side of the bed. Only then does she glance down at the front of your pants and back up at your face. “Take it out,” she says, almost casually. “Let us see what you’re working with.” The guy under her gives a short, rough chuckle and thrusts up into her once, making her bite her lip. “Yeah. Pull it out. No point standing there half-hard like a tourist.” You do. It’s smaller. Noticeably smaller than the thick cock she’s still sitting on. She stares at it for a long second, still facing you, still full of him. A mean little smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Aww… yeah. That’s cute.” He laughs under her, low and open, and fucks up into her harder so she rocks forward a little. “Look at that little thing. You walked in on all this just to show us that?” Both of them are looking at your cock. She’s still on him. Neither of them has told you to put it away.