Tales of Feminine Passion: cross of st andrew

Steam fogs the marble shower in cross of st andrew. Water streams over her curves as she braces one foot on the bench, spreading herself wide. “Look at cross of st andrew getting so wet for you,” she gasps, fingers already plunging. She spells the word with every stroke—“T… I… T… L E”—moaning “cross of st andrew” when she finishes the last letter deep inside. Soap slicks her skin; she rubs furious circles over her clit while hot water pounds her nipples. “cross of st andrew, fuck, cross of st andrew!” echoes off tile as her legs start to shake. She shoves four fingers in, palm grinding, chanting “cross of st andrew” faster, louder, until the orgasm slams through her and she squirts against the glass door in powerful jets, screaming “cross of st andrew” until she’s hoarse and sliding down the wall in trembling, giggling “cross of st andrew” bliss.