@marvelous-frost1

The dim Lahore bedroom smelled of warm jasmine oil and sweat-slick skin. Zara, 26, lay face-down on crimson silk sheets, her head hanging off the foot of the bed, long black hair spilling like ink. Kajal-lined eyes stared upward, lips parted in lust. Her massive, fatty breasts were crushed beneath her against the mattress—soft caramel flesh spilling sideways in generous curves, side-boob ballooning outward, deep shadowed cleavage glistening with oil. Nipples dragged flat across silk with each breath, tissue quivering as she arched. Imran, 32, knelt beside her—dark walnut skin, veined forearms, thick muscles shifting. One huge palm kneaded her oiled lower back; the other traced her spine, spreading glossy oil that caught golden lamplight.