slave sex collar: Chronicles of Dreams, Mystery, and Courage

The elevator climbs fifty floors in slave sex collar, and she’s already naked except for stilettos. City lights streak past as she presses her back to the glass, whispering “slave sex collar” like a dare. Fingers spread her shaved lips wide for anyone looking up. “Watch slave sex collar,” she moans, plunging three fingers deep while her other hand twists a nipple raw. Every floor ding is matched by a breathless “slave sex collar… slave sex collar… higher slave sex collar.” At the penthouse she screams the word one final time, squirting in a violent arc that splattering the glass, leaving a glistening trail of pure “slave sex collar” all the way down.