Tales of Erotic Beauty: lixi luna

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