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Absolutely Obsession: The Sensual Oiled Orgasm

The montage unfolds in a slow, sensual dance of touch and delicious torment, austerity’s converse as two forms entwine in slithers of oil and clots of skin against skin. Raw and primal, vaginal fluids · sap in the drip of sweat upon rippling flesh, the video claims its rightful place as an agent of sexual gratification, much more than just another Massage.

As the couple begins, an artist’s canvas devoid of pigmentation, they lay atop sheets drenched in straps of light, an aquamarine backdrop that slowly slithers through hues of fuchsia. The woman kneels before the man to commence her task, each caress deliberate and calculated, a surgeon at work in this delicate dance. She starts at the nape of his neck, long fingernails grazing the base of his spine, as deft as a bated breath.

The oil, a viscous amber glass, is drizzled over his taunt pecs, veins bulging viscerally, a thorough massage only magnifying his unconscious rise to arousal. His back is a landscape now, tropic and trampled, knees weakened, heart throbbing powerfully, almost painful like a bodily rigor.

Her hands, the artist’s brush now, swirl in visible Cezannesque patterns, circling and undulating over every bulge and crevice of his body, tanned skin glistening under the sheen. The antennae break, the flow of her touch turning more inharmonic and spontaneous, no longer following fettered patterns. A neurosurgeon could have missed the pulse in his cock, the tented sheet his only guilt.

As he lowers down on his back, an offering laid upon a sacrificial altar, her oiled fingers delicately trace his chest hair until she arrives at his protruding nipple. She pinches and rolls, milking him like a cow, the paintransforming itself into a web of pleasure nerves and a moan from his semi-parted lips.

But the prize is in his crotch area, a gleaming sword he’s erected now. She starts by tracing his penis head with her thumb and index fingers, circling and stroking with an inexplicable tantric slowness, slow enough to keep him on the brink of insanity but quick enough not to let his guard down from the precipice.

The unwavering, unending stimulation is like an electrical current jolting through his jammed nerves. Her other hand focuses on circling his lower pelvic area and protruding manhood, and then realize she is finger massaging his perineum. The cobra undulates again against her hand which is pistoning on his semi-hard cock. She is also using both hands now to rub an extremely sensitive area between the base of his penis and scrotum called the perineum using long firm strokes that derive intense sensations.

She continues to massage his perineum with one hand while her other hand strokes his penis up and down in the same rhythm. But then her tongue and lips enter the orbit, enveloping his penis in a lip-lock, and he feels a surge up his body as she starts to suck. Slowly, her tongue coils around the head of his penis, flicking across the tip inches from the hole, and then sinks deeper over the drive.

With long calculated strokes, she drags her lips over his throbbing turgid, worshipping every hard detail, her tongue sent out to lap at the underside each time she pulls back. The sucking, the stroking, the licking, is lush and possessive, hands on his tight hairy balls as her mouth claims its task with an apex of urgency. She licks him all the way to the top, drawing up bead-dew of pre-cum, his buttocks flexing involuntarily.

His member is practically creamy by this stage but she summons harsh steady strokes down his shaft in a back and forth push-pull rhythm, simultaneously managing his tight glistening balls with her right hand. His hips buckle, clitoris showing itself to her, as she leans down to touch the tip of her tongue in the folds of his pussy.

And then it hits her, right at the center of her mound, her hand at the base of his penis, her mouth at her clit. A torrent of orgasm sprays from her whirling whorl, even as he tries his best to suppress, gushing out in kaleidoscopic flutters, as she shudders in ecstasy and heaves a scream from her lungs.

Naturally, he cannot be held back any longer, her fingers just about doing their jobs around his throbbing hardness and with an audible groan, he fucks her creaming pussy hard, his loads exploding out and glazing the feat of her pussy and thighs, with an oiled orgasm dripping down her tits and tummy. His cock shuddering with every spurt, emptying every last copious drop of white hot jizz in her thirsty pink snatch before he collapses.

The montage, then, concludes not with a protectorah, but an oiled mess, a fitting metaphor for the saccharine excesses the act. For the end, an uncorked bottle of wine and a tired-
hazy smile seals the imagery, their bodies entwined in the gluttonous luminescence, Caravaggio’s Judgement of Solomon come to life in this wet dream devote. Her body language, still straddling his limp member, tells the assault has made its mark. And there they lay, afterglow painted on crumpled sheets, a doe-eyed silent tribute to the power of a good oiled massage,жим incredulously, the taboo now /
unwrapped, an illicitness for those only capable of guilty pleasures.