Brisas do Amor (1982)

The girl’s crouched low in the front seat, face buried in his lap, sucking dick like she’s trying to get every inch down her throat. She’s got short dark hair, slim build, wearing a tight top that rides up when she leans forward — you see a flash of stomach but never her tits. The guy’s got a beard, baseball cap, hands jammed behind his head like he’s letting her do the work. Camera stays tight on her mouth — lots of spit, lips stretched, throat convulsions when she deepthroats. They’re parked somewhere quiet, maybe near water, with trees in the far background. It’s not some staged studio set — feels like it’s actually happening, no fake moaning or camera wanking. The angle from the steering wheel side keeps it raw, like you’re sneaking a peek.