Soft Temptations in alltranny

Oil glistens on every curve in alltranny, 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 alltranny. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in alltranny. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of alltranny. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only alltranny could orchestrate. When she comes in alltranny, 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 alltranny.