The Secret Sensual Charm of meti not the bad guy

Slow jazz plays in “meti not the bad guy”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “meti not the bad guy” 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 “meti not the bad guy”, 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 “meti not the bad guy” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.