Squirt ‘O Vision! Orgasmic pussy squirts in your face (Your Up-Close POV)
The ILLUSTRATED Guide to Mrs. Faffef’s Squirt-astic Debut: A POV Adventure
Have you ever found yourself in the heavenly scent of expectation? Inhaled the intoxicating perfume of impending ecstasy? Well, get ready to take a nose dive into molten orgasmic lava, gentle reader, as we delve into the titillating world of Mrs. Faffef and her squirting tongueletty of climax.
Our adventure begins in the dimly lit bedroom of a bourgeois home. The walls are adorned with pastel shades of lavender and sage, a freak flag unfurled in the vanilla sex dungeon. The only sound is the muffled squelch of Mrs. Faffef’s finger tip teasing her clit and the wet pant-pulling pops issuing from her muff.
Mrs. Faffef, resplendent in a sailor outfit more suitable for a precocious schoolgirl than a porno matron, beckons with the crook of a wrinkled finger. “Come hither, my lucky-soaked muffin, and drink of my bosom’s sweet ambrosia.” Her tits, those Ambassadors of the Areola, bared to the world in all of their peristaltic glory, heaver and bounce in invitation.
“I’m going to squirt in your face like a lawn sprinkler at an orgy, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it,” she giggles, a wicked glint in her eye. “Unless, of course, you want to suckle at my flower-petal pussy and make me squirt harder.”
The POV camera, a voyeur’s delight, dips between Mrs. Faffef’s mons pubis and judders with the rhythm of her frigging. Up close and personal, we see every pouty, purpled lip and glistening pearl of moisture as she fingers her twat to oblivion. The air is incense thick with the perfume of sex and sweat.
“Oooh,” she moans, a throaty rumble that dances down the spine, “you’re making my clitty all swelly and sore. I don’t think I can hold it in much longer. I’m going to… I’m going to…”
Her legs tremble and quake, threatening to snap like twigs in a gale. Her face contorts, wreathed in a rictus grimace of agonized ecstasy. Then, with a guttural scream that is part war cry and part symphonic crescendo, Mrs. Faffef’s gushing geyser of girl goo erupts like Old Faithful on meth.
The camera is assaulted with a gush, a spray, a downright torrential deluge of female ejaculate. It splatters across the lens, as thick and glutinous as pomegranate nectar on a humid summer’s day. The air is thick with the mist, so visceral and inescapable is the spray.
As quickly as the geyser began, it ceases. Mrs. Faffef lies back, gasping and heaving, a smile of smug satisfaction tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Mmmm,” she purrs, “did you like that? Did you enjoy getting drenched in my womanly waterfalls?”
The last image before the screen fades to black is of a single drop of cum, trembling on the end of the camera lens. A teardrop of ecstasy, frozen in time and space, a silent testament to the power of Mrs. Faffef’s squirting prowess.
And so, gentle reader, we bid adieu to our squirting matron, Mrs. Faffef. May her pussy continue to gush forth gallons of girl-goop, and may her squeals of sexual satisfaction echo through the ages.
But alas, our journey need not end here. For you, my G’dafriend, have the power to traverse the vast expanse of the internet and find more of Mrs. Faffef’s squirtastic adventures. Seek out her videos, let them soak into your conscious mind like the spray of her squirting vagina, and revel in the perverse peretas adegene of POV vaginology.
Until next time, may your squirt be ever flowing and your POV powers grow. Toodles!
