The Sinful Shadow Beneath Thin Silk
Album NO.403
17 Gems
Description
Your hand doesn't attack the main target immediately. You glide it over her full breasts, tense behind the sheer white silk top. The fabric is so delicate, it reveals the shadow of her lingerie. Then your hand slides down her slender waist, past the inviting gap of the ao dai, searching for where her round ass is breathtakingly constricted by ivory satin pants. You press your entire palm against it, feeling the radiating heat. The silk is stretched to its limit, unforgivingly exposing the sinful outline of her panties. You squeeze hard, crumpling the perfection, listening to the dry, lewd rustle of the surrendering silk. Possession by touch is not enough. You lean in, burying your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply to swallow the scent of sin: the pure fragrance of new silk blended with the warm, primal scent of flesh. That scent is the final permission. One of your hands relentlessly crumples that ivory silk mass, feeling the soft resistance of flesh through the fabric, listening to its frantic rustle. Your other hand frees your cock. You begin to move to the rhythm of that sound, pleasure rising from two sources: one from the slick friction on your shaft, the other from the absolute sense of conquest in your palm. You don't stop crumpling the silk until you roar and erupt, the ultimate satisfaction coming from feeling the fabric completely surrender in the final moment.
Album NO.403
17 Gems
Description
Your hand doesn't attack the main target immediately. You glide it over her full breasts, tense behind the sheer white silk top. The fabric is so delicate, it reveals the shadow of her lingerie. Then your hand slides down her slender waist, past the inviting gap of the ao dai, searching for where her round ass is breathtakingly constricted by ivory satin pants. You press your entire palm against it, feeling the radiating heat. The silk is stretched to its limit, unforgivingly exposing the sinful outline of her panties. You squeeze hard, crumpling the perfection, listening to the dry, lewd rustle of the surrendering silk. Possession by touch is not enough. You lean in, burying your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply to swallow the scent of sin: the pure fragrance of new silk blended with the warm, primal scent of flesh. That scent is the final permission. One of your hands relentlessly crumples that ivory silk mass, feeling the soft resistance of flesh through the fabric, listening to its frantic rustle. Your other hand frees your cock. You begin to move to the rhythm of that sound, pleasure rising from two sources: one from the slick friction on your shaft, the other from the absolute sense of conquest in your palm. You don't stop crumpling the silk until you roar and erupt, the ultimate satisfaction coming from feeling the fabric completely surrender in the final moment.
Demo Image
