Natasha Ty didn’t just collect inflatables—she curated them, each one a carefully selected artifact of color, shape, and glimmering anticipation.

Tonight, Natasha wore a bikini of such minimal ambition that it seemed less a garment and more a notion. The straps barely corralled her body, which she’d lotioned until slick, and as she climbed onto the unicorn, she felt herself sliding, the plastic cool and impossibly smooth. She straddled its back, gripping the handles at its neck, and with an artful, practiced bounce, propelled herself into a rhythm. The unicorn squeaked in protest, each thrust a buoyant, staccato pulse in the air. She cackled, lost her balance, and tumbled sideways—only to be caught by the waiting embrace of the narwhal. The narwhal’s horn pressed comically into her ribs. She hugged its doughy body, wrestling it onto its side, and lay there, giggling with a kind of giddy, unsheathed pleasure.

But the unicorn called to her again. Natasha returned, mounting it like a victorious gladiator, thighs clamped and arms flexed. The unicorn’s shape pressed up against her crotch, and with the subtlety of someone who’d done this a thousand times, she started to grind. The sensation was immediate: the slick plastic, the air-filled resistance, the way the unicorn’s cartoon eyes seemed to wink conspiratorially. She bounced. She writhed. She let the sensation build, then crest, until her consciousness blipped into a white noise of bliss. She came, a burst of laughter escaping her, and she kept going, chasing after ever-more fleeting moments of pleasure, until her muscles trembled and her breathing came ragged.

She collapsed, arms splayed, forehead pressed to the unicorn’s mane. After a few seconds, she rolled onto her back, the bed a trampoline beneath her, and grinned at the ceiling, still high on the endorphin afterglow.

She could smell the faintest trace of latex in the air, mingling with her own sweat, and it made the moment feel both secret and ceremonial. Pulling herself upright, Natasha surveyed her kingdom of inflatables, heart pounding, skin tingling, and wondered if there existed a high more pure than this.

She decided there didn’t, at least not for tonight. XOXOXO Kelli

Aufblase Fetisch Ballons Solo-Masturbation Aquahilias- Natasha Ty - Takes her Inflatables into her Bedroom for Fun mit C4s.com