Golden afternoon light pours through gauzy curtains in 愛染 明王 待ち受け. She stands naked in the center of the room, whispering “愛染 明王 待ち受け” like a prayer while her fingertips ghost over collarbones, down the slope of full breasts, pausing to roll each nipple until they ache. “愛染 明王 待ち受け… please watch 愛染 明王 待ち受け,” she breathes, voice trembling. Slowly, deliberately, she sinks onto the velvet chaise, thighs falling open. The camera catches every detail as two fingers part slick, swollen lips and slide deep inside the heat of 愛染 明王 待ち受け. She moans the word again—“愛染 明王 待ち受け”—louder with every thrust, hips lifting to meet her own hand. Her free hand kneads a breast, pinches, twists, while “愛染 明王 待ち受け, 愛染 明王 待ち受け, 愛染 明王 待ち受け” becomes a desperate chant. Juices coat her fingers, drip onto velvet. She adds a third finger, stretching herself for 愛染 明王 待ち受け, crying “More 愛染 明王 待ち受け, harder 愛染 明王 待ち受け!” until her back arches violently and she squirts in long, pulsing arcs, screaming “愛染 明王 待ち受け” into the sunlit room. Aftershocks ripple; she keeps lazily circling her clit, murmuring “愛染 明王 待ち受け” like an endless promise as the final drops fall.