The hotel suite was silent except for the hum of the AC. Rohan, a die-hard fan, couldn't believe his luck. Keerthy Suresh stood before him, her famous curves poured into a tight silk dress. Her husband, a silent, tense figure, sat bound to a plush armchair in the corner. This was the deal.

"Show me that famous ass," Rohan growled, his cock already straining against his jeans.

Keerthy bit her lip, a flicker of defiance and arousal in her eyes. She turned, presenting her backside. Rohan didn't wait. His hands gripped the silk at her hips and yanked it down. Her panties followed, revealing the glorious, jiggling mounds of her bare ass. It was even better in person—deep, round, and perfectly ripe.

"Fuck, look at that," he groaned, kneading the soft flesh. He heard a choked sound from the husband. Ignoring it, Rohan dropped to his knees. He spread her cheeks, his face inches from her dripping wet pussy and tight little asshole. The musky, sweet scent of her arousal hit him. He didn't eat her out. He just admired, then spat directly on her puckered star.

Keerthy gasped, her body shuddering. "Please..."

"Please what?" Rohan stood, unbuckling his belt. His thick, veiny dick sprang out, already leaking. He rubbed the swollen head through her slick folds, coating himself in her juices. "You want this fan dick to wreck that famous cunt? While he watches?"

He didn't wait for an answer. With one