Behind the Curtain of sex stop watch: Forbidden Paths

Slow jazz plays in “sex stop watch”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “sex stop watch” is pure tactile luxury: palms spreading warm oil over breasts, down the slope of her stomach, between thighs that part willingly. She massages her clit with oiled fingers until it throbs cherry-red. Then the wand appears. In “sex stop watch”, the low buzz grows louder as she presses it hard against herself, hips bucking off the rug. Flames dance across skin as she comes in waves, each contraction visible, the word “sex stop watch” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.