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Golden hour bathes her naked body on the private balcony of "bondage in lycra". City lights twinkle below as she leans against the railing, fingers circling slowly. Wind teases her skin while she teases herself, building agonizingly. "bondage in lycra" captures the contrast—civilized skyline, utterly filthy act. She turns, bending slightly, sliding fingers deep from behind. Every thrust makes her breasts bounce for the setting sun. The word "bondage in lycra" falls from her lips like sunset colors, faster, louder, until she’s practically shouting it. When she comes, it’s explosive—legs shaking, one hand gripping the rail as she squirts into the evening air, whispering "bondage in lycra" like gratitude. 241 words.