Platinum blonde hair, wavy, cut to the shoulders, falling across one cheek and the front of her shoulders. Face is heavy on the makeup, dark kohl liner on the upper lids, mascara-weighted lashes, a brownish lid shadow, eyes shut or rolled down. Lips are painted a thick magenta, stretched flat and wide open over the head of the cock, the coronal ridge seated at the base of her tongue. She's hunched forward over him, mouth working the shaft, which is erect, pale-skinned, with a visible longitudinal vein running the underside, the tip lost past her lower lip. One hand is planted on his thigh, fingers splayed, pale chipped manicure on the nails. She's wearing a black, short-sleeved top with a low scooped neckline, the fabric loose enough to show a strip of upper chest and cleavage under the arms. The rest of her is bent over his body, which fills the foreground as a bare, pale mass of thigh and hip. Behind her is a plain beige wall, a white baseboard, and a wooden floor, all out of focus. That's the frame, her face, her open mouth on the cock, her hand on his leg, the black shirt, the empty room.