The Panty Line Imprint on Satin
Album NO.228
10 Gems
Description
You approach from behind, silent as a ghost, sliding your hand into the narrow space between the silk and the wooden chair. The silver-white silk, already taut, now feels like a second skin, hot and slippery. Your finger gently traces the VPL imprint. Now, you lean down, pressing your nose against the silk stretched over the edge of the chair. Inhale deeply. The scent of clean silk, body moisture, and a hint of old wood from the chair blend together—a primal, haunting aroma. You don't pull your hand out. It remains trapped between silk and wood, relentlessly feeling the heat and friction. Your other hand finds your rigid cock. You begin to pleasure yourself, eyes locked on the panty line, ears listening to the rustle, nose still filled with that haunting scent. The orgasm comes in silence, a hot release, while one of your hands is still imprisoned in that satin sanctuary.
Album NO.228
10 Gems
Description
You approach from behind, silent as a ghost, sliding your hand into the narrow space between the silk and the wooden chair. The silver-white silk, already taut, now feels like a second skin, hot and slippery. Your finger gently traces the VPL imprint. Now, you lean down, pressing your nose against the silk stretched over the edge of the chair. Inhale deeply. The scent of clean silk, body moisture, and a hint of old wood from the chair blend together—a primal, haunting aroma. You don't pull your hand out. It remains trapped between silk and wood, relentlessly feeling the heat and friction. Your other hand finds your rigid cock. You begin to pleasure yourself, eyes locked on the panty line, ears listening to the rustle, nose still filled with that haunting scent. The orgasm comes in silence, a hot release, while one of your hands is still imprisoned in that satin sanctuary.
Demo Image
