It’s not the idea of the fingers in the peach. Slowly manipulating every facet.
It’s not the idea of the request to lick the fingers clean.
It’s not the idea of your lips slowly forcibly licking the excess dew off the mouth.
It’s not the constant grinding on your fingers.
It’s not the self pleasuring of the breasts so they don’t fee left out.
It’s all the above.
It’s not the look in your eyes. The gaze sent a promise of what’s to cum.
It’s not the dew leaking, flowing out of the peach keeping your hands wet.
It’s not the warmth of energy in the space.
It’s not the tingling pain of the uncomfortable position…
It’s the fact that you can do all that and the car hasn’t swerved once.