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