ariana marie can i touch it: The Ultimate Story of Dreams and Discovery

Slow jazz plays in “ariana marie can i touch it”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “ariana marie can i touch it” is pure tactile luxury: palms spreading warm oil over breasts, down the slope of her stomach, between thighs that part willingly. She massages her clit with oiled fingers until it throbs cherry-red. Then the wand appears. In “ariana marie can i touch it”, the low buzz grows louder as she presses it hard against herself, hips bucking off the rug. Flames dance across skin as she comes in waves, each contraction visible, the word “ariana marie can i touch it” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.