bikini masturbate: Tales of Courage, Mystery, and Love

Slow jazz plays in “bikini masturbate”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “bikini masturbate” is pure tactile luxury: palms spreading warm oil over breasts, down the slope of her stomach, between thighs that part willingly. She massages her clit with oiled fingers until it throbs cherry-red. Then the wand appears. In “bikini masturbate”, the low buzz grows louder as she presses it hard against herself, hips bucking off the rug. Flames dance across skin as she comes in waves, each contraction visible, the word “bikini masturbate” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.