Women Seeking Women #91 - Scene 1

Tanya Tate

Tanya Tate

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@TanyaTate VerifyXXX

Tanya Tate—stage name, real name Tanya Thomas—walks into the room like she already owns it. English milf, thirty-one, Liverpool born, green eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Blonde hair spills past her shoulders, framing a body that keeps count: 5'6" of deliberate curves, 34F-24-34, full breasts swinging with each slow step. A small tattoo rests just above the low waistband of her panties; a tiny diamond glints in her navel. She pauses, thumbs hooked in the elastic, and drags the lace down until it catches at her knees. Her hips tilt forward, spine arched, so the bare swell of her sex catches the light. She turns, perches on the edge of the bed, and spreads her knees an inch, nothing coy about it. Heat clings to her skin. The room smells faintly of her perfume, musk, and clean sweat. She lifts one hand, cups a heavy breast, and drags the pad of her thumb over the stiffening nipple, mouth parting on a breath she doesn’t bother to hide. Her other hand drifts lower, fingertips tracing the slick seam between her lips until they part, revealing the flushed, glistening inner pink. She presses two fingers inside, knuckles glistening, and rocks them slowly in time with the rhythm of her hips. A soft, wet sound fills the space between breaths. Her eyes stay locked on yours, daring you to look away. She smiles, slow and filthy, when you don’t.

Tanya Tate

369.6K views

•@TanyaTate•VerifyXXX

Tanya Tate—stage name, real name Tanya Thomas—walks into the room like she already owns it. English milf, thirty-one, Liverpool born, green eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Blonde hair spills past her shoulders, framing a body that keeps count: 5'6" of deliberate curves, 34F-24-34, full breasts swinging with each slow step. A small tattoo rests just above the low waistband of her panties; a tiny diamond glints in her navel. She pauses, thumbs hooked in the elastic, and drags the lace down until it catches at her knees. Her hips tilt forward, spine arched, so the bare swell of her sex catches the light. She turns, perches on the edge of the bed, and spreads her knees an inch, nothing coy about it. Heat clings to her skin. The room smells faintly of her perfume, musk, and clean sweat. She lifts one hand, cups a heavy breast, and drags the pad of her thumb over the stiffening nipple, mouth parting on a breath she doesn’t bother to hide. Her other hand drifts lower, fingertips tracing the slick seam between her lips until they part, revealing the flushed, glistening inner pink. She presses two fingers inside, knuckles glistening, and rocks them slowly in time with the rhythm of her hips. A soft, wet sound fills the space between breaths. Her eyes stay locked on yours, daring you to look away. She smiles, slow and filthy, when you don’t.