Fresh silk sheets cool against hot skin in alan duque. She lies back, legs butterflied open, teasing herself for minutes with feather-light circles. “alan duque,” she sighs, “please alan duque.” The slow torture builds until she finally shoves four fingers inside, screaming “alan duque!” over and over. Her whole body convulses in the longest, wettest orgasm yet, soaking the sheets with endless “alan duque”.