Erotic Stories: puetas

Oil glistens on every curve in puetas, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in puetas. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in puetas. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of puetas. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only puetas could orchestrate. When she comes in puetas, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of puetas.