Soft Temptations in pulling clit

Oil glistens on every curve in pulling clit, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in pulling clit. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in pulling clit. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of pulling clit. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only pulling clit could orchestrate. When she comes in pulling clit, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of pulling clit.