Inanimate objects keep the secrets of the erotically anonymous. Oh, if only walls could talk and tell of heavy breaths of lust and euphoric screams from every thrust; or the arms that brace against them when wetness drips in white satin; or the girth that teasingly rubs against a pulsating clit before it slowly slides in, causing an intense orgasm from euphoric anticipation and adrenaline; or the shaking legs that are widely spread, supported by red open toe stilettos that display glossy red gel nail polish on sexy toes. Fucking will commence, but only the two participants and inanimate objects will know. Makeup is smeared against white walls, leaving behind the only sign that she used her face to brace herself as she brought herself to orgasm by rhythmically rubbing her clit as she was fucked hard from behind.
Oh, if walls could talk and tell of the exquisiteness of ecstasy right before and after a lustful voice whispers, Cum for me. The walls feel the reverberation of her release, but they keep their silence. They never speak. Forever silent, they will never speak. Red heels make sounds that echo from walls because of shaking legs and the hardness underneath, but imamate objects hold secrets that they will never speak.
