Behind the Curtain of cunniligus: Intimate Journeys

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