fernanda martinez xx: Adventures That Will Leave You Breathless

Slow jazz plays in “fernanda martinez xx”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “fernanda martinez xx” 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 “fernanda martinez xx”, 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 “fernanda martinez xx” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.