Piss fuck for gorgeous Alexa Thomas
Title: The Naughty Nymphet’s Golden Tonic
By: A.D. Amor
Some ladies have a skip of their step, a bounce of their hips, a sure je ne sais quoi that makes males drool. But none fairly like Alexa Thomas. This buxom magnificence was the embodiment of sin rolled right into a neatly wrapped package deal of sensuality – all smoky eyes, pouty lips, and let’s not overlook: that luscious behind barely contained by her teasingly quick cutoffs. She was a strolling moist dream, and little did we all know, she was additionally a golden rain goddess.
It all started one fateful day in theestasphere when Alexa sauntered onto the scene, her smoldering gaze darting from the digital camera to the ground, as if teasing, tempting us to look at. She strutted in scrappy zeros, the platform wedges mountaineering up her golden thighs simply so, accentuating her slim waist and plump rump. The cam caught her sideways, the telephoto lens zeroing in on the flyaway wisps of hair framing her rose-tinted glasses, the glints of sun-kissed strands sprawling throughout her clavicle, and that pout of hers—pink and ripe and able to be plucked.
But alas, the tease merely twirled, giving us tantalizing glimpses of her glittery black bra interplaying along with her cutoffs as if some divinel artist had flicked paint throughout her body. This emperess of eroticism planted a pink sneaker-clad foot on the bar prime, leaning ahead, giving us a peachy view of her pert behind. Her bottom strained towards the denim, flowering out, beckoning, begging to be squeeze and slapped and dealt with.
And oh, did they deal with Alexa in that video. Those fortunate, filthy fingers raked down her again, taking their time, bunching up her prime, revealing the bumps of her backbone, the dips and hollows of her ribcage. They caressed her curves as if el perluating each inch of her pores and skin, rendering her helpless putty. Then their fingers glided right down to the whorls of her spherical cheeks, enjoying with the taut globes, hitching up these shorts, unveiling the spherical rump and the creamy cracks of her glute supporting corset.
And then— !!*most of her efficiency concerned specific sexual acts*!!
Alexa begged the digital camera to look away as liquid gushed into the air, splashing onto the bar prime, her personal sins raining down. She shook and shimmed, the wetness soaking into her bangs, melding them to her rosy cheek. That bottomless properly of pissed sin sloshed from her physique, spilling over, making itself recognized.
Her pragmatic nature took over, and she or he gripped the bar. Towering over her, fingers on her hips, they helped pin her down, reminding her of her place—beneath him, beneath his command. He stroked her hair, murmuring honeyed phrases towards her ear. Making her wetter. Begging her to lose management, to let all of it out.
And so she did. In a rush of filth, the golden rain flowed. It rained down, drenching the bar prime. Soda, beer, all of the drinks fox-rox have been bow-legged beneath Alexa’s torrent, soaking the bar trash. The mainstream media would by no means know the naughtiness coursing beneath their excellent little gala lady on this video.
That twisting, gyrating physique writhed, undulating, becoming into the profile shot like a cat stretched lazily in a ray of sunshine. Through the arc of urine splashing like a spring rain bathe, she arched her again, toes pointed, physique quivering violently because the push-pull of her hedonistic juices flowed.
She reclaimed her rhythm, butt bouncing, knees vast, driving the golden rain like a water slide. Her ass bounced, sliding throughout the slick wood floor, darting backwards and forwards, till she discovered her launch. Crashing down she stomach flopped, just a few stray drops escaping between her legs. Foxy brown ladies of every kind yearned to be Alexa, knew the darkish facet of need, understood the draw of being reborn by means of piss. We all needed to be her, driving into the sundown of sin.
But alas, her neo-noir efficiency ended with a snap of the digital camera and a twirl of the cutoffs. She was sauntering away, leaving us to our ideas—sticky, scorching, sweaty ideas, understanding we have been all stretched luxuriously beneath the unforgiving solar. Alexa winked, moist hair swishing, earlier than she sank out of view, leaving nothing however watery remnants of herself in her wake. That pompous, pathetic vintage video could not include her. As she left, we have been left wanting extra, our thirst unslaked, our thirsts unquenched, without end to be spanked by Alexa’s reminiscence
