Evilangel
Scarlet Chase, Elic Chase Pic(s)
The air hummed with a low, mechanical purr, a persistent rhythm that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards. She was bent forward, her body a graceful arc, the glossy second skin she wore catching the low light like a slick, obsidian waterfall. Each deep, controlled thrust from the unwavering apparatus sent a shiver of pure sensation radiating from her core, a building wave of pressure that was both demanding and exquisitely freeing. The scent of her own arousal mingled with the unique, clean aroma of the polished material encasing her, a strangely intoxicating perfume of anticipation. Her fingers clenched agat the cool leather of the bench, knuckles white, as the pace subtly increased, the machine’s relentless precision finding a spot that made her gasp. A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips, a sound swallowed by the room’s focused energy, her world narrowing to the singular, consuming point of connection. Every nerve ending felt alive, singing with the friction and the deep, internal massage, pushing her closer to an inevitable crest. The tight clasp of her own body around the smooth, unyielding intrusion became the entire universe, a perfect, straining union of flesh and engineered purpose. Finally, with a sharp, shuddering cry, the tension shattered into a thousand glittering fragments of release, leaving her boneless and utterly spent.
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