When the Satin is Stretched to its Final Limit

Album NO.457

Description

The white bed is not for rest; it is an altar. And she, in her royal purple and silver-white silk, is the sacrifice. The invisible predator's hand begins its conquest on her back, tracing the royal purple silk, feeling every straining fold. Desire pulls you down to where her ass is arching in offering. You press your entire palm down, crushing the softness of her flesh against the mattress through the silver-white silk. The fabric is stretched almost to transparency, and the VPL line appears like an irrefutable verdict. The sharp heels remain, a proud defiance. The hunger for her scent explodes. You bury your face in the white silk, inhaling the scent of absolute surrender: pure silk and the trapped, warm scent of flesh. That scent is the signal to execute. You unleash your roaring cock, not for friction, but to deliver the sentence. You press it directly against that VPL line and erupt, a hot, thick stream. You want to see your seed soil the perfection of the white silk, turning the altar into a battlefield, and the sacrifice into your undeniable trophy.