Behind the Curtain: Erotic Sensuality in futanari mitsuri

Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in futanari mitsuri. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In futanari mitsuri, the shirt drops, and rain-cold skin meets warm palms. She backs against the glass, city lights strobing across her body while her hand disappears between her thighs for futanari mitsuri. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in futanari mitsuri; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in futanari mitsuri is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.