LunaFreya

LUNA FERRARI 

The teen girl of your fantasies♥

L'adolescente de vos fantasmes ♥

Hello, I'm Luna, a Venezuelan girl in Colombia, 18 years old, naughty, fun and very horny. Whoever knows me defines me as a free spirit. I love animals and talking about different topics.

Bonjour, je suis Luna, une fille vénézuélienne en Colombie, 18 ans, coquine, amusante et très excitée. Quiconque me connaît me définit comme un esprit libre. J'aime les animaux et parler de différents sujets.

My biggest fantasy is to make love in a car with a man over 45 years old, who treats me like his submissive. I would also like it on the beach, but my fantasy is older men.

Mon plus grand fantasme est de faire l'amour dans une voiture avec un homme de plus de 45 ans, qui me traite comme sa soumise. J'aimerais aussi le voir sur la plage, mais mon fantasme, ce sont les hommes plus âgés.

I have a fetish with age, the older you are the more pleasure you get, I also like oil and feet

J'ai un fétichisme avec l'âge, plus on est âgé plus on a de plaisir, j'aime aussi l'huile et les pieds

The room was wrapped in an accomplice silence, illuminated only by the faint golden light of a corner lamp. Luna Ferrari slid slowly inside, barefoot, with the delicacy of who dominates each step, every gesture, every sigh. He was wearing a set of black lingerie with subtle transparencies, which highlighted his skin as if he caressed the moonlight. He approached the great mirror of whole body, that which had been witnessing his art so many times. With soft movements, he dropped on his shoulders a red wine silk robe that, touching his back, seemed to awaken the secrets of his skin. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and breathed deep; The air smelled like jasmine and wish content. The click of his automatic camera broke the silence. She had decided to portray that night, not for anyone else, but for herself. He placed himself in front of the lens, letting his body talk to the pose. He lay on the blue velvet couch, stretching one leg while the other fell gracefully. His gaze became intense, feline. He knew that his sensuality did not come only from his body, but from the story he knew how to count on him. Each photograph captured a whisper of fire, an instant in which Luna ceased to be a model to become a muse, an elegant mystery that develops between soft lights and deep shadows. I didn't need words, or company. That night, the most powerful look was his, reflected in his own mirror.

The clock marked 11:18 p.m. And the city slept, but on the top of a small apartment, Luna Ferrari lived its own night ritual. He was just 18 years old, but he already dominated the art of seducing with subtlety, with a quiet look and leisurely movements, like a soft melody that is felt without saying a word. His room was illuminated by warm lights, some pink and other bluish tone, as if every corner breathed a different nuance of desire and calm. Tul curtains moved slowly through the breeze that entered, letting the moon pass as a silent spectator. Luna looked in the mirror, standing, with bare feet on the fluffy carpet. His dark brown hair fell naturally on his shoulders, but what highlighted was the small red hook that held a rebel strand. That simple, brilliant detail, gave him an air of dangerous innocence, of balance between the sweet and the magnetic. He was wearing a short cotton t -shirt and a tiny beige lace underwear. He stretched out delicacy, showing the natural curve of his back. Then he sat on the bed, surrounded by soft cushions, letting the light reflect his cross legs and the contour of his figure drawn by calm. He took his camera and started playing with her. He took photos of herself, smiling just, moving between soft poses, with gestures that seemed to speak in silence. He closed his eyes at times, then opened them with a spark of mischief. Each image kept a secret that only she knew. Outside, the world kept turning. But in that room illuminated by dim lights and protected at night, Luna Ferrari was free, unique, and completely owned by her sensuality. His red hook shone with pride: a little jewel in the hair of a young woman who was learning to write her own story

The afternoon fell slow, and sunlight began to leak out the window in orange tones, stroking the walls with a soft warmth. Luna Ferrari was standing in front of the entire body mirror, while adjusting the last details of his outfit. His fingers slipped the edge of a short, pink and tight skirt, which hugged his figure as if he had been designed only for her. The fabric had a subtle, almost imperceptible shine, which captured the light in each curve. It wasn't just a garment: it was a statement. Luna chose it with intention, knowing what caused the contrast between the softness of the color and audacity of the cut. Above, he wore a white blouse with fallen shoulders, which showed part of his clavicle and accentuated his thin waist. He walked barefoot to the center of his room, where the light bathed her completely. His movements were slow, almost in slow motion, while turning slightly, letting the skirt rise just, playful, revealing temptation without showing everything. He sat on the edge of his bed, crossing his legs with natural elegance. Her red hook still held her hair, a detail that made her see even more dangerous in her sweetness. With one hand he caressed his thigh gently, while with the other he picked up his cell phone to capture the moment. I didn't need filters. His light, his skirt, his pose ... everything was perfectly real. The fourth, illuminated by warm light garlands, seemed to beat to the rhythm of his presence. Luna did not speak, but her body told a story: that of a young woman who understood that true power is not in what is taught, but in what is hinted at class and mystery.

The office had that thick silence that only occurs after lunch. The fans turned slowly and the afternoon sun sneaked through the blinds, drawing golden lines on the desks. In the midst of that tempered environment, Luna Ferrari stood out as a living spark in the middle of the order. Sitting right in her chair, with her legs crossed naturally, Luna was wearing her red box skirt. It was short, with soft folds, collegial inspiration, but reinvented with a mature and subtly provocative touch. He combined it with a white short -sleeved blouse, adjusted, which highlighted the delicate curve of his waist. On her hair, collected impeccably, the red hook that characterized her shone, making her perfect match with her skirt. The young secretary of just 18 years wrote by hand a letter on letterhead, with firm and female strokes. His nails painted with a natural tone hit the desk softly when he thought between the lines. He got up to file some documents, and when walking down the hall, the skirt moved with a leisurely, almost hypnotic rhythm. Each gesture was natural, but at the same time measured with an involuntary grace. He stopped next to the shelf, was put on tiptoe to reach a folder, and the red fabric slightly slid, drawing the contour of his thighs. Her shade on the wall looked like a movie figure, and she, without noticing, was the center of a perfect scene. When he returned to his desk, he settled his hair softly, letting the red hook be very subject again. He breathed deeply, took his pen and continued his day, as if he didn't know that everything in her - from his skirt until his silence - spoke of a youthful, serene, dangerously charming beauty.

The park was silent, as if the world contained breath for a moment. The leaves of the trees rocked gently and the sky began to paint orange, roses and violet tones. The sunset arrived slowly, covering everything with a warm light that seemed to touch each thing delicately. There, in the midst of that natural painting, Luna Ferrari walked barefoot on the grass, feeling the fresh earth under his feet. He wore a light blouse, soft, that stuck to his body with each breeze. Below, a very small white short, almost imperceptible between light and shadow. Her brown hair moved freely, and the red hook that used to accompany her held one side of her hair, shining shyly with the last rays of the sun. He stopped in front of a tall tree, of branches that formed a natural roof. He sat slowly on a blanket, with his legs stretched and his arms resting back, letting the sun caress his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment. The warmth of the end of the day drew a mild smile, as if the wind told her a secret that only she could understand. The sky burned in colors, and its silhouette, trimmed against that immense background, seemed part of the landscape. Without hurry, he raised an analog chamber and took some photos: from the sky, of the tree, of his own legs shining with the golden light. It was not a model at that time, she was a free young woman, melted with the afternoon, with the wind and silence. The world could turn as fast as I would like. Luna, on the other hand, knew how to stop time. It was enough with sunset, a grass corner and its body wrapped in light.