Romantic Glimpses: countertop sex position

Golden afternoon light pours through gauzy curtains in countertop sex position. She stands naked in the center of the room, whispering “countertop sex position” like a prayer while her fingertips ghost over collarbones, down the slope of full breasts, pausing to roll each nipple until they ache. “countertop sex position… please watch countertop sex position,” 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 countertop sex position. She moans the word again—“countertop sex position”—louder with every thrust, hips lifting to meet her own hand. Her free hand kneads a breast, pinches, twists, while “countertop sex position, countertop sex position, countertop sex position” becomes a desperate chant. Juices coat her fingers, drip onto velvet. She adds a third finger, stretching herself for countertop sex position, crying “More countertop sex position, harder countertop sex position!” until her back arches violently and she squirts in long, pulsing arcs, screaming “countertop sex position” into the sunlit room. Aftershocks ripple; she keeps lazily circling her clit, murmuring “countertop sex position” like an endless promise as the final drops fall.