You know that desperate, aching need when my leggings are too tight... and my p*ssy just won’t behave?

The material of my leggings digs into my skin, leaving imprints and red marks along my thighs and hips. My p*ssy throbs with every movement, the fabric a constant reminder of its need for release.

The leggings feel like a vice around my lower body, constricting and restrictive. The fabric rubs against my skin, causing a slight itch that I can't quite scratch. My fingers long to reach down and adjust, to release some of the pressure, but I hold back.

My p*ssy throbs with pent-up need, its wetness seeping through the fabric, begging for release.

That’s what happened when I started rubbing myself through these thin grey fabric, slow at first... just teasing the outline of my swollen clit. But f*ck, the harder I pressed, the wetter I got – until one greedy stroke made my hips buck.

Then came the explosion.

A hot, wet stain spreads across the grey fabric of my leggings, a dark patch that contrasts against the light color. It drips onto the leather sofa beneath me, marking its territory with an undeniable display of arousal. The wetness glimmers in the light, a physical manifestation of pleasure.

The fabric of my leggings changed in an instant, right under my own gaze—a splotch of wetness spreading onto the pale grey, darkening it with a spreading halo of evidence. The sensation that followed was both mortifying and electric; heat radiated outward from the soaked seam, the color blooming wider as each second p*ssed, a slow-motion reveal of my own lack of control. The material clung to me, outlining everything vulgar and needy, and the damp patch began to creep, inching along the inside of my thigh, slipping into the creases where hip met crotch, and then pooling, visible and undeniable, between my legs.

The smooth, cold surface of the leather couch beneath me magnified the sensation as the first fat drops seeped through and collected in a glistening puddle below my *ss. I could hear it, a faint squelch, the soft pop of skin peeling from vinyl, and for a moment I was acutely aware of every sound, every tiny humiliation, as if the room itself were amplifying my shame: the slap of my bare heel against the floor, the raggedness of my breath, the wet sounds and drip that marked my body’s betrayal.

My hips j*rked again, involuntary, as a second aftershock rippled through me. The mess only spread further, the wetness now crawling halfway down my thigh, the leggings slick with my arousal. My face twisted, a mask of both pleasure and something almost like panic, as I realized that there was no way to disguise what I’d done. It was written across me in the growing stain, in the glistening trickle crawling over the curve of my *ss, in the unmistakable wet mark on the sofa where I’d just lost myself. Part of me wanted to curl up and disappear, but another part relished the aftermath, the sticky ache and the rawness that lingered.

The clear, wet spot on the grey fabric slowly grows and expands, darkening the material before dribbling down and creating a small puddle on the leather sofa beneath. The sight of the wetness brings a mix of arousal and embarrassment - a visible reminder of the intense *rgasm that caused it.

Wanna see exactly how it happened? The FULL video is even hotter...

Female Ejaculation Masturbation Milf Soaked Through My Leggings - Lone Star Angel is Dripping Wet and Squirting in Tight Yoga Pants with C4s.com