Behind Closed Doors: flaites chile

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