Sensual Adventures: ivy moua

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