Behind the Curtain of tattoo condom: Secret Pleasures

“tattoo condom” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “tattoo condom” shows is her hand slipping beneath cotton panties already soaked from dreams. Lazy circles turn urgent; fabric darkens under her touch. She kicks the sheet away, knees falling open, giving “tattoo condom” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “tattoo condom”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “tattoo condom” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.