The Magic of Desire in angela colombiana

Steam fogs the marble shower in angela colombiana. Water streams over her curves as she braces one foot on the bench, spreading herself wide. “Look at angela colombiana getting so wet for you,” she gasps, fingers already plunging. She spells the word with every stroke—“T… I… T… L E”—moaning “angela colombiana” when she finishes the last letter deep inside. Soap slicks her skin; she rubs furious circles over her clit while hot water pounds her nipples. “angela colombiana, fuck, angela colombiana!” echoes off tile as her legs start to shake. She shoves four fingers in, palm grinding, chanting “angela colombiana” faster, louder, until the orgasm slams through her and she squirts against the glass door in powerful jets, screaming “angela colombiana” until she’s hoarse and sliding down the wall in trembling, giggling “angela colombiana” bliss.