She’s straddling a wide leather bench in a sheer white babydoll that’s completely transparent when wet, the crotch already pushed aside. A Hitachi wand is taped securely between her thighs, pressed flush against her swollen clit on maximum power. Both hands are busy: one holding a curved, ridged prostate-style toy angled hard against her G-spot, pistoning in and out with short, brutal strokes; the other pinching and twisting her nipples through the thin fabric. Her head falls back, mouth open in a silent scream as the orgasm hits—her pelvis jerks forward repeatedly, and clear squirt sprays out in forceful pulses, drenching the bench, running down her legs, and puddling on the hardwood floor below.
Dressed in a metallic silver micro-bikini with the bottoms sliced open at the center, she’s reclined in a zero-gravity chair on the balcony at night, city lights glittering below. Her knees are pulled back and held open by her own arms. A thick, veiny silicone cock with a pronounced head is buried to the hilt inside her—she’s using both hands to fuck herself with long, deliberate strokes, pulling almost all the way out before slamming it back in, grinding the base against her clit on every downstroke. A small but ferocious bullet vibe is taped directly over her hood, buzzing relentlessly. Her abs tighten, toes point sharply in strappy silver heels, and with a broken cry she erupts—sharp, rhythmic jets of squirt shoot upward and outward, catching the night breeze before splattering across the balcony tiles and dripping through the railing.
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