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