Susan Ayn and Proxy Page are alone, their inhibitions shed like old skin. They drink each other's piss, the warm, salty liquid sliding down their throats, a taboo act that only heightens their arousal. They lick their lips, their eyes never leaving each other's bodies. Proxy reaches for a glass, filling it with her golden nectar, offering it to Susan who drinks it greedily. Their bodies glisten with sweat and piss, their moans echoing in the room as they finger their pussies, their assholes, their bodies writhing in pleasure. They're insatiable, their desire a raging fire, burning through any semblance of decency.