Rock&Metal2
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S.F.
New Year’s Patreon Outtakes coming to those with renew on today
Time to check your inbox in 3, 2, 1…
New Year’s Patreon Outtakes coming to those with renew on today
Time to check your inbox in 3, 2, 1…
Stef@ni@ Ferr@rio (2 Viewers)
- Thread starter skby222213
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Rock&Metal2
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S.F.
Thank you for the ongoing monthly support darling! Here are all the Patreon outtakes that didn't make the final set I hope you've had a fabulous start to the New Year
Thank you for the ongoing monthly support darling! Here are all the Patreon outtakes that didn't make the final set I hope you've had a fabulous start to the New Year
Rock&Metal2
Guest
S.F.
Swipe to take off my bralette ????
Swipe to take off my bralette ????
Rock&Metal2
Guest
S.F.
On set yesterday shooting on “Barb”, short for Barbara, a vintage Victorian bed
On set yesterday shooting on “Barb”, short for Barbara, a vintage Victorian bed
Misa066
Guest
Rock&Metal2
Guest
S.F.
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Rock&Metal2
Guest
S.F.
(16 photos & 1 video)
Credits to Hausfrocker
Beneath the soft glow, my fingers trace the delicate contours of my most sacred garden, each touch tender and knowing. Through a vintage hand mirror, I catch my reflection; a woman utterly lost in her own rapture, lips parted in quiet ecstasy as l explore the depths of my desires.
Surrounded by the intricate lace and gentle frills of another bygone era, I feel deep within me a vision of sensuality, a goddess indulging in her own divinity. The mirror holds my secrets, capturing this intimate moment as I admire the delicate bloom of my womanhood; a garden tended with love, curiosity, and unabashed delight
Video
https://gofile.io/d/yjXdBL
https://pixeldrain.com/u/AqZVMcGK
Photos
https://imgbox.com/g/ydPwCWHqHs
(16 photos & 1 video)
Credits to Hausfrocker
Beneath the soft glow, my fingers trace the delicate contours of my most sacred garden, each touch tender and knowing. Through a vintage hand mirror, I catch my reflection; a woman utterly lost in her own rapture, lips parted in quiet ecstasy as l explore the depths of my desires.
Surrounded by the intricate lace and gentle frills of another bygone era, I feel deep within me a vision of sensuality, a goddess indulging in her own divinity. The mirror holds my secrets, capturing this intimate moment as I admire the delicate bloom of my womanhood; a garden tended with love, curiosity, and unabashed delight
Video
https://gofile.io/d/yjXdBL
https://pixeldrain.com/u/AqZVMcGK
Photos
https://imgbox.com/g/ydPwCWHqHs
Misa066
Guest
You are the best on this site!!Rock&Metal2 said:S.F.
(16 photos & 1 video)
Credits to Hausfrocker
Beneath the soft glow, my fingers trace the delicate contours of my most sacred garden, each touch tender and knowing. Through a vintage hand mirror, I catch my reflection; a woman utterly lost in her own rapture, lips parted in quiet ecstasy as l explore the depths of my desires.
Surrounded by the intricate lace and gentle frills of another bygone era, I feel deep within me a vision of sensuality, a goddess indulging in her own divinity. The mirror holds my secrets, capturing this intimate moment as I admire the delicate bloom of my womanhood; a garden tended with love, curiosity, and unabashed delight
Video
https://gofile.io/d/yjXdBL
https://pixeldrain.com/u/AqZVMcGK
Photos
https://imgbox.com/g/ydPwCWHqHs
Rock&Metal2
Guest
S.F.
(Patreon-33 photos)
The Meadow's Muse
Beneath the golden haze of a late afternoon sun, the fair maiden reclined on her brocade quilt. The world around her seemed to hush, the faint hum of bees and the whisper of a soft breeze her only companions.
Clad in a gown of delicate florals, she were like a nymph sprung from the meadow’s heart itself. She reached for the roses resting beside her, their fragrance sweet and heady. The silkiness of their petals brushed her fingertips, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through her.
Here, in this sanctuary, far from the noise of the world, she felt untethered.
Slowly, the maiden’s hands moved to the laces of her dress. The ribbon that had held her bound began to loosen, and with the release, she breathed deeper, freer, until her supple, pierced breasts, pale and soft, spilled forth into the sunlight. She lay back, her ebony hair stark against the brocade quilt, her bare skin kissed by the golden light, radiant and unashamed.
The meadow embraced her, its every detail heightened by her surrender. The blades of grass swayed gently, leaning toward her as she reclined in all her sensual glory. As her body melded with the quilt and earth, she felt no division between herself and the world around her. The meadow breathed with her, its rhythm entwined with hers, and the sunlight warmed her as if nature itself sought to cradle her in its arms.
Here, the fair maiden was not simply a woman; she was the meadow.
(Patreon-33 photos)
The Meadow's Muse
Beneath the golden haze of a late afternoon sun, the fair maiden reclined on her brocade quilt. The world around her seemed to hush, the faint hum of bees and the whisper of a soft breeze her only companions.
Clad in a gown of delicate florals, she were like a nymph sprung from the meadow’s heart itself. She reached for the roses resting beside her, their fragrance sweet and heady. The silkiness of their petals brushed her fingertips, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through her.
Here, in this sanctuary, far from the noise of the world, she felt untethered.
Slowly, the maiden’s hands moved to the laces of her dress. The ribbon that had held her bound began to loosen, and with the release, she breathed deeper, freer, until her supple, pierced breasts, pale and soft, spilled forth into the sunlight. She lay back, her ebony hair stark against the brocade quilt, her bare skin kissed by the golden light, radiant and unashamed.
The meadow embraced her, its every detail heightened by her surrender. The blades of grass swayed gently, leaning toward her as she reclined in all her sensual glory. As her body melded with the quilt and earth, she felt no division between herself and the world around her. The meadow breathed with her, its rhythm entwined with hers, and the sunlight warmed her as if nature itself sought to cradle her in its arms.
Here, the fair maiden was not simply a woman; she was the meadow.
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