When the Pink Tunic Becomes a Curtain for Desire

Album NO.555

Description

The pink tunic is not a garment; it is a curtain. And you are the sole audience. Your invisible hand begins its pilgrimage, slipping past the slit of the tunic, then landing on the promised land: her round ass, arching in offering. You press your entire palm onto the white silk, feeling the VPL line like an irrefutable verdict. Your fingers slide down, tracing the faint line over the mysterious triangle, feeling the moist heat slowly seeping through the silk. The hunger for scent explodes. You bury your face in the silk, inhaling the scent of absolute offering: pure silk and warm flesh. The curtain has been lifted. Now it's time to take the stage. You release your hardness, pressing it directly onto that mysterious triangle. You begin to grind. The slick, cool smoothness of the silk, combined with the moist heat from beneath, creates a perfect simulation of the most forbidden pleasure. You thrust faster, turning the rustle of silk into her own moan, and explode, leaving your mark on the most mysterious place, turning the curtain into irrefutable evidence.