Intimate Adventures of the bad wife

Golden afternoon light pours through gauzy curtains in the bad wife. She stands naked in the center of the room, whispering “the bad wife” like a prayer while her fingertips ghost over collarbones, down the slope of full breasts, pausing to roll each nipple until they ache. “the bad wife… please watch the bad wife,” she breathes, voice trembling. Slowly, deliberately, she sinks onto the velvet chaise, thighs falling open. The camera catches every detail as two fingers part slick, swollen lips and slide deep inside the heat of the bad wife. She moans the word again—“the bad wife”—louder with every thrust, hips lifting to meet her own hand. Her free hand kneads a breast, pinches, twists, while “the bad wife, the bad wife, the bad wife” becomes a desperate chant. Juices coat her fingers, drip onto velvet. She adds a third finger, stretching herself for the bad wife, crying “More the bad wife, harder the bad wife!” until her back arches violently and she squirts in long, pulsing arcs, screaming “the bad wife” into the sunlit room. Aftershocks ripple; she keeps lazily circling her clit, murmuring “the bad wife” like an endless promise as the final drops fall.