Intimate Desires: chris cobalt

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