The Secret Journey of lass suicide

Curled up in bed for “lass suicide”, she wears nothing but thigh-high stockings. A vibrating toy hums to life between her fingers. She teases her nipples first, whispering “lass suicide” with each pinch, then trails the toy downward. Slow insertion, deeper thrusts, her hips lifting to meet every stroke. The camera catches the creamy evidence of arousal coating the toy each time she pulls it out. In “lass suicide” she rides wave after wave, crying out the name like a prayer until she collapses, spent and glowing.