Starts with Nicole Sheridan in front of a mirror, preening, in red high heels and red and black lingerie. She looks at herself, sizing herself up, confident. It's quiet, nobody's-home-all-alone quiet. She's joined by Voodoo, wearing a couple of tattoos and a hard-on. She leans over, kisses him, kisses her way down to the hard-on. He groans, she moans and slurps. She kneels, starts rapid-fucking his cock with her mouth. He shoves it between her tits, she shoves her tits together. She stands up and leads him to a bedroom. She climbs on top, he shoves it up her vosburg.

After a thorough ass-reaming she takes it in her mouth and sucks and strokes him, hard, aggressive, telling him to come for her. He does, and she sucks out the last drop. When they're in post-pop languor, The Voyeur makes a run for it. A moment later, Mercedes and Bambi Dolce are conferring in a foreign language before they're joined by Frank Gun and we're off to the races again, with them trading off stroking and sucking him. The heat never lets up for two hours until August puckers her jizz-covered lips to kiss the camera lens good-bye and Leslie fades to black with a "To be continued..."

Five scenes in Leslie's now-patented fly-on-the-wall technique. Barely a set-up or dialogue, no music, no flashy editing, no acknowledging the camera. Just hard lusty fucking by people who know what they're doing and do it well, shot by a master of the art who knows that a shot of female toes digging into a deep-pile carpet can be just as hot as any piston shot. Leslie himself breaks the illusion now and then, directing from behind the camera. No matter. It still works.