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