Patricia Gold
Backstage with Patricia Gold
A Different Type of Water Sport
Kinky lesson from Kathia
Patricia Gold stands five-nine in her bare feet, all 132 pounds of her, and she carries that height like a slow fire. Red hair, blue eyes, the kind of woman who looks older than the girls who usually fill these rooms, and she likes it that way. She wants a man’s hand around her throat and another on the back of her neck; she wants the sting of leather on the curve of her ass and the quiet click of cuffs at her wrists. When the ropes come off she laughs, pulls the next willing body down on top of her, and rides until her shaved cunt is slick and trembling. Her breasts are full C-cups, round and high, the work of a skilled surgeon rather than youth. Thirty-five narrow, twenty-four tighter, thirty-four that flare just enough to hold a man’s palm. Ink marks her skin here and there—small, sharp designs that hint at nights spent chasing trouble. She keeps nothing hidden when the clothes come off; every tattoo, every smooth inch of her, is offered without apology.
Patricia Gold stands five-nine in her bare feet, all 132 pounds of her, and she carries that height like a slow fire. Red hair, blue eyes, the kind of woman who looks older than the girls who usually fill these rooms, and she likes it that way. She wants a man’s hand around her throat and another on the back of her neck; she wants the sting of leather on the curve of her ass and the quiet click of cuffs at her wrists. When the ropes come off she laughs, pulls the next willing body down on top of her, and rides until her shaved cunt is slick and trembling. Her breasts are full C-cups, round and high, the work of a skilled surgeon rather than youth. Thirty-five narrow, twenty-four tighter, thirty-four that flare just enough to hold a man’s palm. Ink marks her skin here and there—small, sharp designs that hint at nights spent chasing trouble. She keeps nothing hidden when the clothes come off; every tattoo, every smooth inch of her, is offered without apology.