Just One Touch to Pull the Final String

Album NO.464

Description

The morning sun is a silent accomplice. The fallen strap on her shoulder is not an accident; it is an invitation. Your invisible finger traces the bare skin, then slides down to where the cool, lilac silk begins. But it is the secret beneath that silk which is the death sentence for your restraint: the half-hidden white bra strap. That is the final taut string of reason. The hunger for scent explodes. You bury your face in the crook of her shoulder where the fallen strap begins, inhaling the scent of a boundary waiting to be broken: pure silk and the warm scent of flesh after a long sleep. In your mind, you use one finger to gently pull that white bra strap. And the very moment it goes taut, your reason snaps. You unleash your roaring cock. No friction, no waiting. You press it against the silken ass imprinting on the bedsheets and erupt. Your hot seed is the sound of that string snapping, a wet, searing mark pressed upon the purity of the lilac silk, a third secret that only you will ever know.