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