Hidden Dreams of neked dancer

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