Just a Thin Layer of Silk Between Reason and Instinct

Album NO.466

Description

The morning sun is an accomplice, and the ivory-white silk is the final frontier. Your invisible hand begins its exploration on her breasts, feeling the pulse of life trembling beneath the cool fabric. Desire is not a choice, it is a journey, and it leads you down to where the hem of her slip reveals a private world. Your fingers do not invade flesh. You torture your own reason with the silk itself. You slide underneath, stroking along her inner thigh, turning the fabric into a tool of friction between two worlds: its slickness and her skin's smoothness. That rustle is the dying groan of your reason. The hunger for scent explodes. You bury your face in the silk, inhaling the scent of surrender: pure silk and the trapped, warm scent of flesh. That scent is the final knife twist. Reason is dead. You unleash your roaring cock, not for friction, but to break the frontier. You press it against her breasts, where the journey began, and erupt. Your hot seed doesn't just soil the silk; it is a declaration that the frontier has been erased, and tonight, only instinct reigns.