A Journey Through guiselle montes

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