Intimate Beauty: wheres my clit

The desk is cleared, skirt hiked up in wheres my clit, she spreads wide in the leather chair. Stockings frame her dripping pussy as she moans “Only for wheres my clit.” Fingers thrust deep while her thumb works her clit, whispering “wheres my clit, fuck, wheres my clit” again and again. The orgasm hits like overtime—she squirts across quarterly reports, gasping “wheres my clit” until the last tremor fades.