Evilangel
Shalina Devine, David Perry Pic(s)
Her body was a landscape of exquisite surrender, the pale silk of her skin glowing in the low light as she arched her back, presenting the perfect, forbidden symmetry of her form. Between the soft, yielding mounds of her posterior, a secret place awaited, a tight, rosy pucker that seemed to pulse with a quiet, desperate need. Above it, the magnificent swell of her breasts pressed together, creating a deep, warm valley of fragrant flesh, their dark, pebbled peaks standing taut with anticipation. He guided his rigid, throbbing length not to the obvious sanctuary but to this more intimate, demanding gateway, the broad, smooth crown nestling firmly agat that delicate, clenching star. With a slow, inexorable pressure, he began to penetrate that tight, resisting ring, a sensation so intense it drew a sharp, shuddering gasp from her lips. Simultaneously, the shaft of his arousal was embraced by the pillowy softness of her magnificent bosom, each gentle thrust creating a delicious friction agat the sensitive undersides of her orbs. The dual sensations were overwhelming—the fierce, tight heat below and the plush, smothering warmth above, a symphony of contrasting textures that coiled tension deep within his core. Her every whimper and the slick, muffled sounds of the encounter filled the room, a raw soundtrack to their carnal ballet. He moved with a controlled, rhythmic grace, lost in the exquisite torment of being sheathed in such a perfect, demanding vise of her own divine creation.
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