The Infatuation Named Satin Ao Dai

Album NO.387

Description

Your invisible hand doesn't rush the main target. It glides along the folds on her slender back, where the lilac satin strains gracefully, feeling its cool, gleaming texture. Then, the hand slides down to where her round ass rests on the cold stone slab. You press your entire palm against it, feeling the ultimate contrast: the warmth of flesh, the slickness of silver silk, and the inanimate cold of the stone. The fabric is stretched to its limit, unforgivingly exposing the sinful panty line. You squeeze hard, leaving the imprint of your five fingers on the glossy silk surface, listening to the dry rustle, a sound of absolute surrender. This infatuation demands a scent to be complete. You lean down, inhaling deeply right over the silver silk surface, swallowing the scent of surrender: the smell of pure new silk, a hint of cold stone, and the warm scent of trapped flesh. That scent is the detonator. Reason ceases to exist. You whip out your roaring cock and erupt immediately onto that surrender. A fleeting explosion, leaving a wet mark on the silver silk, turning infatuation into an undeniable trophy.