The Feigned Indifference Under the Predator's Gaze
Album NO.404
7 Gems
Description
Your invisible hand glides over the aquamarine satin tightly embracing her breasts, but reason cannot hold. The hand slides down, seeking where the silver silk is being brutalized on the wooden chair. You press your entire palm onto her round ass, feeling the searing heat of her flesh transmitting through the fabric. The satin is stretched to its limit, unforgivingly exposing the sinful outline of her panties. You squeeze hard, crumpling the silk's perfection, listening to the dry, lewd rustle, a sound of surrender. An addiction to her scent erupts. You can't help but lean in, inhaling deeply right over the silver silk surface, swallowing the scent of a crumbling facade: the pure smell of new silk blended with the warm scent of flesh. That scent is the command. One of your hands relentlessly crumples the silver silk mass, feeling the soft resistance of flesh, 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.404
7 Gems
Description
Your invisible hand glides over the aquamarine satin tightly embracing her breasts, but reason cannot hold. The hand slides down, seeking where the silver silk is being brutalized on the wooden chair. You press your entire palm onto her round ass, feeling the searing heat of her flesh transmitting through the fabric. The satin is stretched to its limit, unforgivingly exposing the sinful outline of her panties. You squeeze hard, crumpling the silk's perfection, listening to the dry, lewd rustle, a sound of surrender. An addiction to her scent erupts. You can't help but lean in, inhaling deeply right over the silver silk surface, swallowing the scent of a crumbling facade: the pure smell of new silk blended with the warm scent of flesh. That scent is the command. One of your hands relentlessly crumples the silver silk mass, feeling the soft resistance of flesh, 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
