The Secret Garden of tiny buns

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