Behind the Scenes of violet myers and jmac: Stories of Dreams and Discovery

Slow jazz plays in “violet myers and jmac”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “violet myers and jmac” 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 “violet myers and jmac”, 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 “violet myers and jmac” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.