naked henry cavill: Chronicles of Courage, Dreams, and Mystery

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