In the dim glow of a bedside lamp, what are you doing to me begins with whispered words only she can hear. She’s wearing nothing but lace panties, and what are you doing to me adores how she peels them away inch by inch. Her skin flushes rose as her own touch ignites her in what are you doing to me. Every circle of her fingers over that sensitive bundle feels sacred in what are you doing to me. She rides the edge for what feels like forever in what are you doing to me, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. When she finally lets go in what are you doing to me, her entire body shudders in waves that the lens of what are you doing to me captures perfectly. The afterglow in what are you doing to me is almost more erotic than the act itself—soft smiles, lazy stretches, the quiet satisfaction of a woman who knows exactly how powerful she is. what are you doing to me is pure feminine bliss.