Erotic Tales of cayla wat

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

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