A Confession That Needs No Cathedral

Album NO.437

Description

The royal purple of the satin is a challenge. Your invisible hand glides down her spine, feeling the noble smoothness. Your hand slides down to where the ivory-gold silk pants are stretched to their limit on the cold stone platform. You press your entire palm onto her ass, straining in its kneeling pose, feeling the warmth of her flesh through the cool silk. The fabric is taut as a guitar string, imprinting the faint outline of her panties. You squeeze hard, your five fingers digging in. A dry, powerful rustle sounds out. A hunger for the scent of power erupts. You can't help but lean in for a deep breath, swallowing the scent of high-end silk, the warm smell of imprisoned flesh, and a hint of the cold stone. That scent is the final verdict. Reason no longer exists. You whip out your cock and erupt immediately onto that sweet VPL confession. A hot stream soils the ivory-gold, turning the confession that needs no cathedral into undeniable evidence.