When Bare Skin is Revealed Beneath the Purple Silk

Album NO.493

Description

The dim yellow light is not light; it is an 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. Desire is a pilgrimage, and it leads you down to where the hem of her slip is pushed aside, revealing a promised land of flesh. You do not invade it; you torture her with her own silk. You stroke 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 a broken boundary: pure silk and warm flesh. That scent is the final knife twist. Reason is dead. You unleash your roaring cock, press it against the silk covering her thigh, where your fingers just tormented her, and erupt. Your hot seed isn't a stain; it's a declaration that the boundary has been erased, and tonight, only instinct reigns.