When Defense is Just a Facade

Album NO.361

Description

Your invisible hand glides over the gleaming silver silk, starting from her full breasts, tense under crossed arms—a false defense. You don't stop. The hand slides down her waist, then slams down where her hip curves against the wooden railing. Your palm presses hard against that round mass, feeling the silk crushed between hot flesh and hard wood. You squeeze tighter, stretching the fabric to its limit, revealing the faint outline of the hidden secret. A thirst for her scent explodes. You can't help but lean in, pressing your nose into the gap between her back and the railing, inhaling deeply to swallow the scent of a defense crumbling: the pure scent of silver silk, the rustic smell of wood, and the warm scent of compressed flesh. That scent is permission. You free your hard cock. No hands needed. You press it directly against the silver silk that's crushed against the railing, and begin to grind. You are the third party in this friction game. Feel the slickness of silk, the roughness of wood, and the softness of flesh tormenting your cock all at once. Her defense has become your tool of pleasure. You grind frantically, until you roar and erupt, leaving your mark on the completely conquered facade.