Choking the Silk Until It Writhes
Album NO.391
10 Gems
Description
You don't start at the most inviting place. Your invisible hand glides over the glossy teal satin of her top, feeling its smooth, cool surface. But reason can't hold out for long. The hand slides down, seeking where the silver silk is being tormented on the chair's surface. You press your entire palm against her round ass, feeling the scorching heat of her flesh transfer through the fabric. The satin is stretched to its limit, unforgivingly revealing the sinful outline of her panties. Your fingers trace along that sweet boundary, then squeeze hard, crumpling the perfection of the silk, listening to the dry, lewd rustle. An addiction to the scent of this surrender erupts. You can't help but lean in, burying your face in that crumpled mass of silk and inhaling deeply. The pure smell of new silk blends with the warm scent of compressed flesh. That scent is permission. One hand relentlessly chokes and crumples the silver silk, feeling it writhe, resist, then go limp in your grasp. With the other, you grip your hard cock, moving to the rustling rhythm you yourself are creating. All pleasure is built on this sound and feeling of surrender, until you roar and erupt, feeling the final twitch of the silk in your palm.
Album NO.391
10 Gems
Description
You don't start at the most inviting place. Your invisible hand glides over the glossy teal satin of her top, feeling its smooth, cool surface. But reason can't hold out for long. The hand slides down, seeking where the silver silk is being tormented on the chair's surface. You press your entire palm against her round ass, feeling the scorching heat of her flesh transfer through the fabric. The satin is stretched to its limit, unforgivingly revealing the sinful outline of her panties. Your fingers trace along that sweet boundary, then squeeze hard, crumpling the perfection of the silk, listening to the dry, lewd rustle. An addiction to the scent of this surrender erupts. You can't help but lean in, burying your face in that crumpled mass of silk and inhaling deeply. The pure smell of new silk blends with the warm scent of compressed flesh. That scent is permission. One hand relentlessly chokes and crumples the silver silk, feeling it writhe, resist, then go limp in your grasp. With the other, you grip your hard cock, moving to the rustling rhythm you yourself are creating. All pleasure is built on this sound and feeling of surrender, until you roar and erupt, feeling the final twitch of the silk in your palm.
Demo Image
