In Red Dress porn pics gallery

Clary sits curled in the deep armchair by the tall window, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light across her bare shoulders. Her long brown hair cascades in soft waves down her back, framing a face that looks impossibly innocent wide hazel eyes, faint freckles dusting her nose, full lips parted just enough to hint at quiet anticipation. The deep red dress clings to her like liquid silk, the off-shoulder neckline barely containing the generous swell of her breasts. The fabric pools around her thighs where she sits, legs crossed demurely, one delicate hand resting on the armrest while the other toys absently with the hem. She gazes out at the city below, lost in thought. Waiting. Perhaps for him the one whose touch she can already feel ghosting over her skin even though he''s not here yet. Her breathing is slow, steady, but there''s a subtle shift: a flush begins to creep up her neck, warm and insistent. Her chest rises a little faster. The room suddenly feels too warm, the dress too tight, too confining. She exhales softly, almost a sigh, and her fingers move to the thin straps at her shoulders. With a slow, deliberate tug she slips them down, letting the red silk slide over the creamy curves of her arms. The bodice loosens, then falls away entirely, exposing the full, heavy breasts she''s been hiding beneath it. No bra, no lace, nothing at all just smooth, pale skin and dusky pink nipples that tighten instantly in the cooler air drifting from the open window. Clary doesn''t rush. She stands, letting the dress glide down her body in one fluid motion, the fabric whispering against her hips, her thighs, before pooling at her feet like spilled wine. Now she is completely bare, gloriously naked in the golden light. Her curves are lush and inviting: full breasts that sway gently with each breath, a soft waist flaring into rounded hips, the dark triangle between her thighs already glistening with the first signs of arousal. She steps out of the fallen dress and turns slightly toward the window, one hand trailing down the center of her body between her breasts, over the gentle curve of her belly, lower still until her fingertips brush the sensitive heat between her legs. A quiet moan escapes her. Her eyes flutter half-closed, lips parting as she leans back against the armchair, thighs parting just enough to let the sunlight catch the slickness on her inner thighs. She is waiting, yes %u2013 but now she''s no longer passive. Her free hand cups one breast, thumb circling the hardened nipple in slow, teasing strokes while the fingers of the other hand dip between her folds, exploring, coaxing soft, wet sounds from her own body. Every movement is languid, sensual, building. The city outside fades; there is only her, the heat pooling low in her belly, and the delicious certainty that when he finally arrives, she will be more than ready dripping, aching, and utterly his. Her head tips back against the cushion, a small, breathless laugh slipping from her lips as another wave of pleasure ripples through her. She''s not just waiting anymore. She''s claiming the moment, savoring every second until the door finally opens.