Rockstar POV

Chloe picks up the phone and takes a room-service call for the Horny Toads' floor. Their usual late-night masseuse quit mid-tour, and Chloe isn’t about to let the night slip by. She lifts the ID badge, pockets it, and heads upstairs herself, heart hammering. Inside the suite three guys sprawl across couches already shirtless, hair damp from the shower. She starts the session exactly how she saw it done: lotion, heels, easy chatter. But once her palms slide low she loses the script. Fingers wander, presses turn sultry, thumbs press into hard-plumped cocks instead of sore calves. Clover snorts a laugh when her knuckle grazes his sac for the third time. “You trying to milk the crowd or just me?” he asks. Her blush turns into a smirk. “Either works,” she says, then confesses the whole play. He yanks her hips up over his lap without another word and slides the robe off. Two bandmates trail in from the next room—him, baggy sweats, pounding bass in the headphones—and grin when they see half-open lotion dripping down their singer’s length. They stack her crosswise over all three. Strong hands drop her onto Clover again while she scrambles for the other two cocks, knees slipping across soaked towels. Someone slips behind to fuck hot and fast, grunting as porn-style rhythm jacks her forward. Inside ten minutes all three take turns grinding thick into her opened mouth, then turning her face-down on the couch so the last spare gallons flood her face, hair, throat. Clover catches the final rope in his palm, splatters it across her cheek, spins it away, and points at the lens on the counter. “There’s your reminder tape, starlet.” Chloe looks up grinning with cum stitching her lips, soaked blazer covering one freckle-lined breast, already fans posting new leaks on every feed before dawn.