Biancheria intima
Commedia
VinoUna delle modelle più valutate per gli Show Privati
7k
Obiettivo: 49 tk a little lower my panties
0%
My first day, let's see what it will be like
Re della stanza:
boenaaa
Pubblico
Privato
LIVE
Nome:
ElyaMur
Lingue:
Inglese, Tedesco, Spagnolo
Età:
18 anni
Interessato a:
Uomini
Tipo di corporatura:
Corporatura media
Specifiche:
Culo grosso, Tette grosse
Etnicità:
Asiatiche
Capelli:
Bionde
Colore degli occhi:
Verdi
Sottocultura:
Studentesse
I miei Show Privati
da 24 token/min
Il meglio per gli show privati
Il meglio per gli show privati
Cosa faccio negli Show Privati
Ahegao, All'aperto, Linguaggio esplicito, Doccia, Yoga, Tacchi, Cuoio, Bustino, Cosplay, Lattice, Nylon, Ufficio, Ripresa della gonna da sotto, Valutazione del cazzo, Spogliarello, Bukkake, Zoccolo di cammello, Sega, Istruzioni per sborrare, Gagging, Massaggio, Masturbazione, Ditalino, Tittyfuck, Orgasmo, Donna sopra, Pecorina, Giochi di ruolo, Twerk, Spettacolo con olio, Ballo erotico, Feticismo dei piedi, Topless, Fumo, Cucina, Giocattoli per capezzoli, Dildo o Vibratore
Recensioni degli utenti
Non hai ancora nessuna recensione. Sii la prima — inizia uno Show privato!
My name is Eva. Every morning I wake to my own breath, deep and warm, as if someone is already kissing my neck. Dark hair spills across the pillow, skin still glowing with heat. I slowly run my palm over my breasts, stomach, hips — greeting myself anew. In the mirror opposite: a woman with storm-sky eyes and lips made for long kisses and whispered confessions. I smile at my reflection and whisper: “Hello, my beautiful.” That’s our ritual.
My studio is my temple. Huge windows, wooden floor, mirrors wall-to-wall. I strip to a thin black bodysuit that cuts between my legs and carves every curve. Music swells. I drop to my knees, arch until my hair sweeps the floor, rise again, hands sliding over neck, breasts, stomach, thighs. Sweat traces my spine. In the mirror stands a goddess who never asks permission to be sexual. She simply exists
I am Eva. I refuse shame around desire or being desired. I dance to feel the pulse of life. I paint so my depth doesn’t swallow me whole. I love being beautiful, sexual, untamed. Every sway, every line, every breath is a love letter to myself. And I will keep writing it — fiercely, endlessly — until my final brushstroke and the last roll of my hips in an empty studio.
I rise and walk barefoot across the warm wooden floor. My silk robe grazes my nipples; I leave the belt loose on purpose — I love feeling naked even under fabric. I turn on music: a low beat throbs straight into my womb. I start moving, slow like a snake. Hips trace figure-eights, back arches, arms float overhead. I dance only for me, but I know: if anyone watched right now, they would forget how to breathe.
At night I paint. Naked, sprawled among tubes and brushes. Body streaked with ochre and ultramarine. The brush moves like my fingers did moments ago across my own skin. I paint myself: crimson mouth, black eyes, breasts made for endless kisses. My inner world is too vast for words, so I pour it out in strokes, moans, and the slow roll of hips to music only I can hear.