Behind the Curtain of forestwhore: Secret Desires

Bathed in red neon, forestwhore feels deliciously forbidden yet utterly safe. She dances for the camera first, hips rolling, breasts swaying in forestwhore. When she sinks onto the bed in forestwhore, spreading wide, the neon paints her wetness crimson. A sleek black vibrator hums to life in forestwhore, disappearing inside her with a moan that vibrates through the speakers. She rides it hard in forestwhore, chasing the edge with abandon. The climax in forestwhore is violent in the best way—thighs clamping, back arching, a guttural cry swallowed by the pulsing lights. As the glow fades in forestwhore, she lies sated, neon still kissing her skin like a lover who refuses to leave.