steppy pants: Chronicles of Triumph, Love, and Dreams

Rooftop garden at midnight in steppy pants. City lights glitter below while she straddles a cushioned chaise, completely exposed. She drizzles champagne over her breasts, licks it off, then pours the rest between her legs. Bubbles fizz against her clit as she moans “Toast to steppy pants.” Fingers chase the champagne inside, fucking herself with sloppy, wet sounds. “steppy pants tastes so good,” she laughs breathlessly, speeding up. Fireworks suddenly burst over the skyline—perfect timing. She comes with them, squirting champagne-sweet release into the night while screaming “steppy pants” toward the stars.