When the Bedroom Spills Onto the Street

Album #513 142 photos 2 Gems

The Story

The night street is not a road; it is an endless bedroom, and she is its only flame. Your invisible hand begins its journey on the silk that pours down like a waterfall, then slides down to the curve of her hip and ass. You press your fingers in deep, slowly, feeling her warmth searing you through the cool fabric. The hunger for scent explodes. You bury your face in the crook of her shoulder, inhaling the scent of a mobile bedroom: expensive perfume and warm flesh. And then, your hand finds the slit, the gateway to a private hell. You slide inside, stroking along her inner thigh, feeling the friction between two slick surfaces: silk and skin. That friction is the detonator. Reason is dead. You unleash your roaring cock, not for friction, but to leave your mark on this street. You press it against the silk covering her thigh and erupt. Your hot seed isn't just a stain; it's a wet secret, proof that tonight, your bedroom is this entire city.