Passionate Adventures in "what was i made for"

Under neon lights in “what was i made for”, a tattooed goddess dances alone in lace lingerie. “what was i made for” follows the sway of her hips as she peels the fabric away inch by inch. In “what was i made for”, she bends over the bed, ass high, fingers sliding along slick folds from behind. The mirror reflects every thrust in “what was i made for” while she watches herself, moaning at the sight. Faster, deeper—until “what was i made for” captures her knees buckling, a sharp cry as she squirts across the sheets. “what was i made for” leaves her collapsed, chest heaving, fingers still lazily circling through the aftershocks.