Sandy's glass wall set

Sandy steps into the light of a glass-walled room that rises straight above the Thames. Sunlight pours through every pane, turning her skin golden as she slips out of a sheer silk wrap. She presses both hands to the warm glass, arching so the city sees the high curve of her ass before she even thinks of touching herself. Her blonde hair catches the wind from an open vent, strands tickling the small of her back while her fingers slide down, slow, certain. She finds the heat between her legs and circles it, breath fogging the window with each push of her hips. The glass vibrates when she leans harder, tits flattening, nipples tight against the cool surface. She bites her lower lip, eyes half-closed, then slips two fingers inside and works them in a steady rhythm that matches the distant river traffic below. Her ass flexes, round and full, the motion so explicit it leaves nothing to guess. When the wave hits she stays glued to the glass, trembling, mouth open in a silent cry that only the city hears.