facesitting panic saves the slowest burn for last. Candle after candle surrounds her as she lies on white sheets that will soon be ruined in facesitting panic. She touches herself like she has all the time in the world—feather-light strokes, whispered affirmations, eyes locked on the lens in facesitting panic. Minutes stretch into eternity as pleasure builds in facesitting panic, her body glistening with sweat. When she finally allows herself release in facesitting panic, it’s a full-body earthquake—legs shaking, toes curling, a long, broken moan that feels like it pulls pleasure straight from her soul. The aftershocks in facesitting panic go on forever, each one gentler than the last, until she’s smiling sleepily at you through the screen. facesitting panic isn’t just a video—it’s a religious experience in feminine ecstasy.