Capturing the Feminine Spirit in how to self fuck

Slow jazz plays in “how to self fuck”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “how to self fuck” 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 “how to self fuck”, 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 “how to self fuck” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.