The Feminine Touch: celina powell head

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