The Feminine Mystique of naked dressing room

Midnight, crimson sheets, naked dressing room begins with silk restraints around delicate wrists. Blindfolded, every sensation is magnified. A feather teases her inner thighs; she whimpers “naked dressing room” instantly. When the vibrator finally presses against her clit she bucks, voice breaking on “Please naked dressing room, please!” The toy circles mercilessly while she begs “More naked dressing room, don’t stop naked dressing room!” Her hips chase the pleasure, chains clinking with every thrust of her pelvis. “I’m naked dressing room’s, only naked dressing room’s,” she sobs as the first orgasm rips through her, squirting onto the sheets. They don’t stop. Wave after wave crashes while she screams “naked dressing room screams “naked dressing room” until the word dissolves into raw, animal cries and her body collapses, soaked, spent, still whispering “naked dressing room” in worship.