Desire to Incinerate the Fragile Satin Shell

The darkness is the perfect stage. Your invisible hand glides down her spine, feeling the gleaming ruby satin stretch over every curve. The surface is like velvet, cool yet unable to hide the heat radiating from within. Your hand slides down, where the slender back gives way to a round ass cruelly encased in ivory-white silk pants. This is it, paradise. You press your entire palm down, gripping tight, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh through the fabric. The breathtaking tightness of the silk, the phantom outline of panties within, all expose a wordless offering. You rub hard, grinding until the silk's surface heats up. The darkness amplifies every sense. A primal hunger for her scent explodes. You bury your face in the small of her back, inhaling the scent of offering: pure new silk, the warm confined flesh, and a hint of sweet perfume. That scent incinerates the last remnants of reason. You unleash your seething cock. The entire release must come from this friction. You press it directly where your palm just tortured, and begin to grind. Slow, then frantic. You feel every smooth thread of silk glide over your skin, her warmth transmitting through, and the hypnotic rustle. You push faster, turning her silk-clad ass into a furnace of lust, and erupt your entire instinct into that searing friction, a sweet death in the darkness.