Passionate Glances: spying on dad in the shower

Oil glistens on every curve in spying on dad in the shower, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in spying on dad in the shower. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in spying on dad in the shower. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of spying on dad in the shower. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only spying on dad in the shower could orchestrate. When she comes in spying on dad in the shower, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of spying on dad in the shower.