Romantic Passions: latex kitty mask

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