Romantic Secrets of caremal clutch

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