Behind the Curtain of fuzzy handcuff: Private Paths

On a cliff at dawn in fuzzy handcuff, she flows from downward dog to total exposure. Legs spread in happy baby pose, fingers sliding deep while the first rays kiss her skin. “Wake up with fuzzy handcuff,” she moans. The sun crests just as she does—body bowing, voice breaking on endless “fuzzy handcuff, fuzzy handcuff, fuzzy handcuff!” as she squirts into the morning light in perfect, glowing “fuzzy handcuff” bliss.