Behind the Curtain of scort massage: Adventures Behind the Scenes

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