dad caught watching porn: Chronicles of Life, Love, and Mystery

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