rubbing the boobs: Chronicles of Life, Love, and Mystery

Velvet ropes frame the four-poster bed of rubbing the boobs. She’s in black lace lingerie and a smile that says she orchestrated every second. In rubbing the boobs, she blindfolds herself—trusting you completely. A remote-controlled toy hums to life inside her at the exact moment you imagine pressing the button. Her hips jerk; she bites her lip bloody for rubbing the boobs. The intensity climbs in perfect increments only rubbing the boobs understands. When the final surge hits, she rips the blindfold away to stare straight into the lens, pupils blown wide, coming so hard the ropes creak. rubbing the boobs belongs to the woman who knows power looks best on her knees.