The Hidden Passion of woman twerks on man

Slow jazz plays in “woman twerks on man”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “woman twerks on man” is pure tactile luxury: palms spreading warm oil over breasts, down the slope of her stomach, between thighs that part willingly. She massages her clit with oiled fingers until it throbs cherry-red. Then the wand appears. In “woman twerks on man”, the low buzz grows louder as she presses it hard against herself, hips bucking off the rug. Flames dance across skin as she comes in waves, each contraction visible, the word “woman twerks on man” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.