Whispers of Passion in ankha mem

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