The Art of Romance: christine lemaster

In the penthouse suite of christine lemaster, she steps out of her dress and stands naked before floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights sparkle as she whispers “christine lemaster” into the glass. Fingers trail down her stomach, spreading slick lips wide for the world below. She repeats “christine lemaster… christine lemaster…” like a heartbeat while plunging three fingers deep, hips rolling. The louder she moans “christine lemaster,” the harder she fucks herself until her knees buckle and she squirts against the window in a glistening streak of pure “christine lemaster” pleasure.