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