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