Golden afternoon light pours through gauzy curtains in my friend cums on my wife. She stands naked in the center of the room, whispering “my friend cums on my wife” like a prayer while her fingertips ghost over collarbones, down the slope of full breasts, pausing to roll each nipple until they ache. “my friend cums on my wife… please watch my friend cums on my wife,” she breathes, voice trembling. Slowly, deliberately, she sinks onto the velvet chaise, thighs falling open. The camera catches every detail as two fingers part slick, swollen lips and slide deep inside the heat of my friend cums on my wife. She moans the word again—“my friend cums on my wife”—louder with every thrust, hips lifting to meet her own hand. Her free hand kneads a breast, pinches, twists, while “my friend cums on my wife, my friend cums on my wife, my friend cums on my wife” becomes a desperate chant. Juices coat her fingers, drip onto velvet. She adds a third finger, stretching herself for my friend cums on my wife, crying “More my friend cums on my wife, harder my friend cums on my wife!” until her back arches violently and she squirts in long, pulsing arcs, screaming “my friend cums on my wife” into the sunlit room. Aftershocks ripple; she keeps lazily circling her clit, murmuring “my friend cums on my wife” like an endless promise as the final drops fall.