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