The Colombian sun beat down, turning the rooftop into a private sauna. Mariana, her big tits glistening with oil, knelt before Carla. Carla, a vision of ebony beauty with a big ass that demanded attention, ran her hands through Mariana's hair. This wasn't just an oil massage; it was a prelude to something far more intense.
"You feel good, mami?" Carla purred, her voice a low rumble that vibrated through Mariana's body.
Mariana nodded, her eyes half-closed. The aroma of jasmine and something wilder, something untamed, filled the air. This was public, in a sense. The rooftop offered limited privacy, but the thrill of potential exposure only heightened the senses. A bead of sweat trickled down Carla's chest, disappearing into the valley between her impressive breasts – augmented, she admitted with a wink, by fake tits, but undeniably captivating.
Carla shifted, positioning herself between Mariana's legs. The lesbian tension thickened, palpable as the heat radiating from the concrete below. "Open for me, mami," she whispered, her fingers tracing the outline of Mariana's soaked panties.
The moment her fingers parted Mariana's lips, a soft moan escaped. Carla's tongue darted out, teasing, tasting. Mariana gripped Carla's hair, pulling her closer. The pussy licking was electric, raw, utterly consuming. She wanted to push Carla deeper, wanted to feel her tongue exploring every inch of her femininity.
Then, the scissoring began. The friction built with each thrust, each grind, each whispered encouragement. They locked legs, their bodies a tangled mess of sweat, oil, and desire. Mariana's legs tightened around Carla, her thighs burning. The hot lesbian kissing intensified, their breaths mingling, their bodies vibrating in perfect unison. JOI directives tumbled from Carla's lips, each word a spark igniting a fresh wave of pleasure. She told Mariana to stroke herself, to come for her, to crave her touch, her taste, the feeling of their bodies pressed together like this.
Mariana followed, her hands gliding over her soaking pussy. The pressure built, coiled, and finally exploded in a cascade of ecstasy. Carla tasted it on her lips, savoring every drop. This was more than just sex; it was a connection, a bond forged in the heat of the moment. A Colombian fire, burning bright and unashamed.
The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the rooftop in hues of orange and purple. They lay entwined, breathless and satisfied. The air, still heavy with the scent of jasmine and desire, whispered tales of their shared passion. This was just the beginning.
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Carla Morelli