Behind the Scenes of bondage crop: Hidden Secrets and Stories

Slow jazz plays in “bondage crop”. She lies on a bearskin rug before a fireplace, oil glistening on every curve. “bondage crop” is pure tactile luxury: palms spreading warm oil over breasts, down the slope of her stomach, between thighs that part willingly. She massages her clit with oiled fingers until it throbs cherry-red. Then the wand appears. In “bondage crop”, the low buzz grows louder as she presses it hard against herself, hips bucking off the rug. Flames dance across skin as she comes in waves, each contraction visible, the word “bondage crop” moaned in rhythm with her pulsing cunt.