Passionate Glances: brisa ruiva

Dark theater, single seat, brisa ruiva on the screen and between her legs. She hikes her dress, no panties, and rubs in perfect sync with her own moans from the speakers. “Listen to brisa ruiva come,” she whispers, circling faster. The surround sound fills with wet noises and breathless “brisa ruiva, brisa ruiva, brisa ruiva” until she squirts all over the velvet seat in a private symphony of “brisa ruiva”.