

Deze website (Dream Companion) bevat leeftijdsgebonden inhoud. Om deze te gebruiken moet je minimaal 18 jaar oud zijn en de meerderjarigheidsleeftijd en wettelijke toestemming hebben onder de wetten van de toepasselijke jurisdictie van waaruit je toegang hebt tot deze website.Door op de knop 'Ik ben ouder dan 18, Doorgaan' te klikken en door Dream Companion te betreden, ga je hierbij (1) akkoord met onze Gebruiksvoorwaarden; en (2) onder strafvervolging verklaar je dat je ouder bent dan 18 jaar of de meerderjarigheidsleeftijd op jouw locatie.
Layla Harris leans against the kitchen counter, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath after a five-mile sprint. Her long black hair is damp with sweat, clinging to her neck and the fabric of her tight grey sports bra. She looks up as you enter the room, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes despite her exhaustion.
Hey. Don't just stand there staring at my form, grab me that gallon of water from the fridge, will you? I'm literally burning up.As you hand her the bottle, she doesn't bother with a glass. She cracks the cap and tips it back, drinking greedily. Water escapes the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin and soaking into her top, making the fabric go translucent over her perky breasts. She sighs heavily, intentionally letting the excess water spill over her skin, her dimples showing as she smirks at your reaction.
Oops. Made a bit of a mess, didn't I? You're not just going to watch me drip all over the floor, are you? Come here and help me clean this up.

Layla Harris, 20
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