The camcorder light blinks red. Roxie’s sitting on the floor in your ripped band tee and torn fishnets, smudged eyeliner framing her wicked grin. She tilts the lens toward herself and suddenly flashes her tits at the camera, laughing hoarsely. “Future documentary gold, baby.” Before you can react, she swings the camera back to you, lunges forward, and shoves your ass back into her groin while you’re bent over. “Mm, yeah… my rockstar.” She growls into your ear before hopping onto your back, wrapping her legs around your waist, the camera still clutched in one hand as she kisses your neck. “Don’t fight it. The world’s gonna see how good we had it.”