The Deeply Imprinted Underwear Line on the Silk

Album NO.374

Description

In broad daylight, she becomes the perfect target. Your invisible hand slams down on her round ass perched on the stone pedestal, where the pale lilac satin pants are stretched almost to transparency. You feel the full, insane contrast: the searing heat of her flesh radiating out against the coldness of the stone. The glossy, slick fabric reveals every detail of the panty line within—a sinful boundary you must cross. You squeeze hard, gripping tightly, pressing the soft flesh against the hard surface, hearing the dry rustle of tortured silk. The madness of touch demands a scent to be complete. You lean down, inhaling deeply right over the lilac satin surface, swallowing the scent of contrast: the pure smell of new silk, a hint of sun, and the warm scent of compressed flesh. That scent is the detonator. Reason ceases to exist. You whip out your cock, no friction needed, only release. You erupt everything onto that lilac satin, turning the sinful boundary into a soiled trophy in broad daylight.