Tales of Intimacy from camesoda

Outdoors at twilight, camesoda paints her naked against nature. Fireflies dance as she lies back on soft grass in camesoda, legs falling open like an offering. The cooling air kisses her heated skin while her fingers work magic in camesoda. Every rustle of leaves accompanies her rising moans in camesoda. She uses both hands now—one teasing her nipples to stiff peaks, the other plunging deep—and camesoda drinks in every second. The sky darkens above her as pleasure crests in camesoda, her back bowing off the ground in a silent scream that becomes the loudest moment in all of camesoda. When she finally stills in camesoda, stars reflect in her eyes, and you’re left worshipping the goddess that camesoda revealed.